I snort at his twisted attempt at humor.
He brings his tea to his lips, and takes a long, slow sip. “I’ve had trouble with vices in the past. Booze … pills … that sort of thing. And I could get real nasty when somethin’ set me off. Truth is, it didn’t take much to set me off. My wife and I went out on the town one night. Hadn’t been out in ages, since Delyla was born. Now, Nicole? She was a real looker. Turned heads wherever she went. I hated it and loved it at the same time.” He hesitates. “That night we ran into an old flame of hers. He was the one who got away, and he was back in town for good. I knew, from the second they laid eyes on each other, that I was in trouble. At least that’s what the whiskey told me.
“One thing led to another and fists started flying. I hit him … I don’t know how many times.” He cradles the hot mug in his hand, staring intently at it. “He wasn’t the only one I hit that night.”
I try to digest what Roy is admitting to, and I’m suddenly thankful that I’m already numb.
“So you ran to Alaska?”
“When I sobered up and saw what I’d done to Nicole’s face …” His head shake is almost indecipherable. “It’s how I remembered my mother’s face, after one of their fights. Swore I’d never be like him.”
“We do that, don’t we?” I murmur absently, thinking how many times I’ve promised myself the same.
“Nicole was always too good for me. She knew it, I knew it. Her family damn well knew it. So, I packed my bags and they made sure she didn’t stop me.”
No wonder Roy doesn’t like talking about his past. Who would ever want to admit that he hit his own wife?
“Have you talked to Nicole since?”
“Just long enough to tell her where to send the divorce papers. And she did. My guess is she remarried.” He nods slowly. “Good for her.”
I don’t know what I’d feel toward Roy right now if I weren’t drowning in my own misery.
Anger?
Disgust?
Pity?
Sympathy?
All the above?
Thirty-something years ago, in a drunken rage, Roy laid fists to his wife and then took off to Alaska.
What does he deserve?
Roy has spent three decades in a form of exile, where he couldn’t hurt anyone he loved ever again, where he wouldn’t let anyone near him ever again, unwilling to take even one painkiller for fear of what he’s capable of when he loses control.
What exactly does Roy Donovan deserve?
Maybe on another day, in another headspace, I would have an opinion.
/> “We were going to restore the cabin so it could be used again,” I hear myself say. “They were supposed to start next week.”
To that, Roy says nothing.
The steady drizzle intensifies to heavy rain, the drops slapping the water and gravel around us, soaking the ground. Jonah would be glad to see this rain.
Jonah …
It was supposed to be an easy trip. In and out, back in a few hours, he promised.
The shrill ring of my phone makes me jump. My eyes snap to the screen and the number displayed turns my stomach. I will my shaky hand toward it but find myself frozen—stuck between needing an answer and wanting to cling to this last shred of hope.
Or delusion.
“I can’t.” The two words are almost inaudible as I struggle to breathe.