A Necessary End (31 page)

“I didn't say that.” But suddenly, he doesn't want to make eye contact. “Gabe just needs to watch out. You know how they say a wounded animal is the most dangerous? Well, Leah's like the most wounded animal.”

“Is she dangerous to me, too?” I touch his arm. “Hey, I need to know. If she's got plans for me, or Michael, or Gabe, you have to tell me. I'm Michael's mother, and it's my job to make sure nothing bad happens to him. He's not going to have a life like Leah's, I swear to you.”

“The thing about Leah is, she's bad at plans. She makes lots of them, but when it comes down to it, she's all impulse.”

I think of that text, Leah and her supposed plan for Gabe and
me. Is Trevor lying? He certainly seemed sincere when he told me that story, but you can't know anyone, not really. Besides, if he was so interested in protecting Leah, would he have thrown her away when she was pregnant, despite knowing her history?

“You can't tell her I told you,” he says. “You definitely can't tell Gabe. But you need to watch them both. That's what I'm going to do.”

My brain is like a washer agitating. I don't know what to think about anything. My heart aches for eight-year-old Leah, who finally let herself believe and then had everything ripped away from her. But I'm afraid I might soon know the feeling.

Much as I hate that Leah went through that, I'm not going to let it happen to me. And I'm not going to let a girl that damaged, someone who's never even known a mother, cut her teeth on Michael, if that's what her impulse is currently dictating.

“Trevor,” I say, “you have to tell her the truth. I've seen how she looks when it's you and her and Michael. She's living in a fantasy about becoming a family. No wonder, with her past. But if that's not what you want, you need to tell her that. You can't lead her on.”

“I know. I will.”

“Soon. The longer she nurtures the fantasy, the worse it'll be.” Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. “I see it taking hold more each day. It scares me.”

I haven't admitted that out loud, not even to Gabe. But then, Gabe's not the one who can do anything about it. Trevor is.

I just wish he looked a little more confident right about now.

I
t's after three
A.M
., and Leah and I are still sitting in the driveway. We talked nonstop during the admittedly short ride home and then tacked on another hour after that. I loved hearing her assessments of Berkeley Goatee, the Fixer, Ames, and all the other personalities that came and went from our table during our tenure. Her analysis of the hands was spot-on and just different enough from my own to fascinate. Mostly, though, we feel the same: that playing poker is about waves of exhilaration, concentration, and boredom, and that there's no more immediately available and equally satisfying way to battle a bunch of near-strangers. And friends, if that's indeed what Leah and I are.

Why the question? Because it feels like a greater bond than mere friendship. She's the mother of my child; she named him Michael when I thought I needed that; she told me to change the name when I needed
that
. She's seeing me at a time when no one else seems to, especially Adrienne. Adrienne's defection hurts, but it hurts less because Leah is in my life.

“You can't go anywhere,” I tell her. The adrenaline after a poker session is like truth serum.

Still laughing, she says, “I'm starting to get tired, Gabe. Honestly, if I don't pump soon . . .” She lets it dangle there, and my eyes move involuntarily to her swollen breasts.

“Were you this beautiful before you had him?” Was she always built like a dream, big tits and little everything else? I can't remember where I heard that descriptor before, but man, does it fit.

She doesn't drop her gaze, doesn't shift away with discomfort or annoyance like she did that time when she was painting the mural. “We can't do anything. You know that.”

“We can do
some
things.” I lean back in the seat and smile at her. I'm not thinking clearly, except that I feel happier than I have in months. No, not months. Since our late-night talks. I felt happy then, too.

“I'm in love with Trevor. You're in love with Adrienne.” Her eyes on mine are intense. “Aren't you?”

If I say no, then what? Would it be a lie, even? “I don't know anymore.” I glance toward the house. It's the home I made with Adrienne when we fled New Jersey, went into exile, left the scene of our crime far behind. “There's something between us that's bigger than love.”

“I have that with Trevor, too.” Her eyes flash with something like defiance. “It's called a baby.”

“Hey.” I want to reach for her hand, but that might be a point of no return. I know those exist, like Adrienne and me in that stockroom more than twenty years ago. I can't destroy Leah like Adrienne and I destroyed Michael. “I'm trying to be honest here.”

“It's such an old, gross story. Like Daddy and the babysitter.” Her tone has turned savage.

“You were thinking the same thing I was. I need to tell you why it can't happen.”

“I don't think like you do, Gabe. Don't lump me in that category.”

What category? I want to ask. But I think the answer would just be an attempt to hurt me, like she's been hurt. Her real parents, and
then all those foster families, and the group homes—Leah's got scars I can't begin to know.

“I never want to hurt you,” I say. “I don't want Trevor hurting you either.”

“What makes you think he's going to hurt me? He's in my pocket.”

“I've got a feeling about him.”

She laughs. “Well, he's got the same feeling about you. What if you're both right? Then I'm really fucked.”

“You're not fucked. You're a star. You've got your whole life ahead of you. You can walk out of here with a clean slate. Do you know what I'd give for that?”

She stares at me incredulously. “You really don't get it at all, do you? I had a baby. That's for life, no matter what I do. I used to believe in clean slates, but I don't anymore. So I need to deal with it.”

“Listen, I'm going to tell you a story. Then you'll know what made me who I am, what I had to deal with. You'll get me. I don't know why, but I need that. Will you listen?”

She watches me for a long minute, her face softening incrementally by the second. Then she nods.

All she knew was that Michael killed himself as a teenager. Until tonight, she didn't know my role in his death.

Flushed with shame, I begin to tell her the whole truth: how drawn I was to Adrienne, how much it meant to me that she loved me more than anything. That one little phrase was enough for me to blow up my own brother. Yes, I tried to stay away from her, but I failed. I told her to leave me alone, but she still broke up with Michael. I couldn't tell her no and have it stick.

“He was so upset, he became this ghost haunting our house,” I tell Leah. “He couldn't sleep or eat. All he wanted to talk about was Adrienne and how he could get her back. I told him she wasn't worth it, that other girls would come along and they'd love him a lot more than Adrienne had. I said I'd heard things about her being with other guys.

“He looked at me like he hated me. He said Adrienne was perfect, she was pure, who did I think I was to go repeating rumors?”

I don't want to go on, but Leah encourages me with eyes that say she'll understand anything.

“He was determined to get her back,” I continue. “I'd never seen that side of him. Never seen him want anything that bad, so bad he was finally willing to try. He told me he needed her. I tried to convince him no one needs anyone, it's a myth, it's a Hallmark card, but I was lying. Because I felt like I needed Adrienne, too. She kept coming to my work and waiting by my car, and finally, I gave in.” I can't say any more about that, the shame is too great. Choosing sex over your own brother's life?”

“You were, what, sixteen?” Leah asks, full of sympathy.

“I was nineteen.”

“My age.”

“Yeah. Adrienne and Michael, they were both sixteen. But I was old enough to know right and wrong. Old enough to know you shouldn't fall in love with your brother's first real girlfriend.”

She leans her head sideways into the seat. “You can't control everything.”

I thought I wanted her absolution but her willingness to excuse me so readily seems to make everything worse. It's like I need to prove to her just how bad I really was. How bad I am. “Wait. You haven't heard the whole story yet.”

I take a deep breath and resume. “I was just hoping that if Adrienne and I kept it secret, if enough time passed, then Michael would have to let go of her. Once he didn't care about her anymore, then we could go public, Adrienne and me. I know some people think sneaking around is sexy, but it wasn't for me. I hated it.

“A couple weeks went by, maybe, and somehow, Michael found out. I knew he'd be pissed at me, but the crazy thing was, he was
only
pissed at me. He said I was the one who was supposed to be loyal. He said I was taking advantage of Adrienne, like she was some stray puppy I led home.” My breathing is becoming constricted, just
remembering. “He said I was jealous and that he'd figured me out. His whole life, while I was pretending to be on his side, I was really trying to keep him down.”

“Was any of it true?” Leah asks quietly.

“No! I mean, I was supposed to be loyal, he was right about that, but I'd always looked after him. With my mom dead, it was like a mission. Then he's standing there, telling me he hates me, he's always hated me, and he knows what a shit I really am, and I don't know, I snapped.”

“Everyone snaps sometimes.”

“I don't mean I snapped and yelled at him, or hit him, or anything that temporary. No, I turned against him. I thought, If he's going to hate me, I'll hate him right back, that ungrateful little fucker. After all the times I stood up for him, made sure no one would bully him, he's going to tell me I meant to keep him down?” I shake my head, wishing I could shake it all loose, that the memories could flurry down and out of my brain forever.

“So you were mad for a while.”

“Yeah. But I think it was bullshit. I think I was just looking for an excuse to stay with Adrienne. If I was mad at Michael, then I didn't have to feel bad about what I was doing. Hell, I could even go public with Adrienne, and he'd just have to deal with it. I was looking for a loophole to let me have what I wanted instead of looking out for my little brother.” I feel a sob coming on. “He was my little brother, and I screwed him over. I took away the girl he loved. Then when he hated me for it, instead of being sorry, instead of ending things with her for good, I just . . .” Now I really can't go on.

Leah's arms are around me, and I'm crying into her neck. “It's okay,” she says.

“No, it's not. He's dead. How can that be okay?”

She doesn't have an answer for that. But what I started, I'm going to finish. I pull myself upright and force myself to tell the rest.

“Until then, until all that stuff with Michael and Adrienne, I believed I was a good guy. I was honest with girls, and I looked after
my brother. I didn't try to hurt anybody. But it's like I was never tested before.

“Because it turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy, what Michael had said to me. I became jealous of him. I didn't like that he kept pursuing Adrienne, and I didn't like that she seemed to feel bad for him. For the first time in our lives, we were truly in competition. Michael had always bailed out before and just let me have everything; he figured I'd win anyway, even if he tried. But he wasn't giving up this time.”

“You both loved her that much, huh?” Leah sounds wistful.

“We both thought so. I was sure I had the upper hand, because Adrienne didn't love Michael more than anything, if she loved him at all.”

“But part of you started to wonder.”

“Yeah, you always have to wonder, a little. It's like, when you cheat and then the other person leaves their husband for you, you're never one hundred percent sure they won't do it again, but to you this time.”

“Maybe you're right to wonder,” she says. “I mean, Adrienne was the one who made it all happen. She pitted you guys against each other.”

“Not exactly.”

“Yeah, exactly. Why was she with Michael to begin with? To get to you. You tell her to leave you alone but she won't. She's like quicksand. When you're in too deep, when she knows she has you, she breaks up with him. Then she's like, ‘Oh, poor Michael.' It's classic.”

“Classic what?”

“Classic teenage-girl manipulation.” Leah rolls her eyes. “Seriously, how dumb are you guys?”

I want to smile in spite of myself. “So you think I was pretty stupid?”

“I think you were a
guy
. You probably still are.” She smiles to show she's kidding. “She worked you over. She worked Michael over.”

“But she couldn't know what was going to happen.”

“She probably didn't care.”

I've had that disloyal thought myself before. I always quash it. “This isn't about Adrienne. It's about me, and what I did to my brother.” At least, that was the point of the story. Leah's got me questioning the narrative a little bit. “You don't even know the kinds of ugly things I thought about him in those weeks before he died. He was a fragile kid, and I didn't see him that way. I saw him as the competition. The enemy. Adrienne didn't do that. I did.”

“How sure are you?”

“About what?”

“What you did. What she did.” Her eyes glitter in the darkness. “I feel like you want me to tell you how bad you are. Is that what Adrienne does for you? Makes you feel bad so then she can make you feel good?”

“No, it's not like that. She doesn't want me blaming myself.”

Leah turns away and stares out the windshield. “I don't know if I can let Michael be raised by someone like Adrienne.”

I feel a glacial flood of panic. “Whatever Adrienne did then, she's a different person now. You said it yourself: It was classic teenage-girl manipulation. Adrienne is almost forty. She loves Michael more than anything. You can see that.”

“I don't like her way of loving more than anything.” She still won't look at me.

“I was older. I was his brother. If anyone had the greater responsibility . . .” I'm babbling now, but it's for nothing. Leah heard what she wanted to hear, and she's stopped listening.