“It was. My father had a terrible temper. My mother was terrified of him. Everything she did, the way she lived her life, was designed to soothe him and keep him calm. ‘Don’t annoy your father’ were the words we heard most growing up. My mother was the woman you described—the one who walks away and closes the door. I used to hear her crying through the bedroom door.”
She put her hand on his arm, feeling the hard muscle through the soft fabric of his shirt.
“I don’t know how you coped.”
“I was too occupied protecting the twins to think much about myself. It was never physical, but verbal can do as much damage. Fliss fought back, which wasn’t great either. But Harriet—” He frowned and shook his head. “He only had to raise his voice for her to be paralyzed by fear. She had a severe stammer as a child. It drove him insane. The more he yelled, the more she stammered. There was an incident at school…” He hesitated. “She had to recite a poem. Fliss and I had helped her practice. Over and over again. Not a single stammer. She was so excited and proud. Then she got up onstage and saw our father in the back row. He never showed up to school events. I swear he only did it that night because he knew how important it was to her to recite that poem perfectly.”
Molly felt a rush of cold horror, only too able to imagine what had happened. “She saw him and couldn’t get a word out.”
“Yes, and that single cruel act undid all the hard work that Harriet had put in. Fliss was so angry she flew at him with a skillet.”
Molly was appalled. “How old were you?”
“I don’t know. Sixteen? The twins would have been around eleven. Occasionally life was fairly normal. We used to spend every summer with our grandmother in the Hamptons while my father was working in the city. She owns a house right on the ocean. It’s spectacular. She’s been offered a small fortune for the land by developers but she won’t sell. So there’s my grandmother in her modest beach house, surrounded by mansions. Apart from the few occasions he visited, those were our happiest times. Mom told me later that she used to dream of us living like that, just the four of us, by the beach.”
“So you became a lawyer so you could make that happen for other people. What happened to your father?”
“He had his first heart attack five years ago. The second one a year after that. It mellowed him a little, but only because he’s afraid. He’s spent his life driving people away, alienating them, and now he’s discovered that he’s alone.”
“You see him?”
“He won’t see me because he blames me for the fact that Mom eventually divorced him. Which suits me fine.” He leaned on the railing, watching as darkness spread across Central Park. “He won’t see Fliss either.”
“And Harriet?”
“Harriet sees him occasionally, but it stresses her. In a way she suffered more than any of us. Even now, if she’s upset, her stammer sometimes reappears. It’s one of the reasons she works with animals and not people.”
“And your mother?”
His expression softened. “After the divorce she finally rebuilt her life. It was a bit like a child learning to walk. Small steps. A thrill of achievement and the realization that taking steps leads to places. It was wonderful to watch. She trained as a nurse and then last year she decided she wanted to see the world. She’s currently in South America with three friends she met at a support group she attended.”
“That’s a nice story.”
“Yes. She finally has the life she’s always wanted.” He took a deep breath and drained his glass. “And I’ve just told you a ton of stuff I’ve never told anyone in my life before. That must be what happens when you hang around long enough to have a conversation after sex.”
She smiled. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s what happens when you trust someone.” If anything the conversation had deepened the intimacy, rather than lessened it.
Daniel turned to look at her, a strange expression in his eyes. “Maybe it is.” He brushed his hand over her cheek, his fingers lingering on her jaw. “You look good in my shirt. How can you look good in my shirt?”
His touch made her pulse quicken. “It’s the light,” she said. “It’s very forgiving.”
“I just realized I still haven’t cooked you that steak.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Tomorrow. We’ll try this whole thing again.” He lowered his head. “I’ll buy you dinner. We’ll go out. That way I can’t rip your clothes off. And we’ll talk about you, not me.”
“I’m busy tomorrow.”
“You’re prioritizing a spin class over sex?”
“It’s not a spin class.”
“Cooking class? Salsa? I don’t even know what day it is—”
“It’s a work thing.” A work thing that right now, with his eyes on hers, she was tempted to cancel, but she knew she couldn’t. It was too important.
“What time does it end? Come here afterward.” As his hand slid under the hem of the shirt, she felt herself weaken.