in him and began searching for a richer man.”
“And did she find him?”
“Several.”
“Do you ever see her?”
“No. I was an accident she regretted, I believe. She couldn’t relate to children, and after I was grown, I had no interest in her. Love, no matter what kind, always costs too much. I do write her a monthly check, however.”
“So, my father was only part of your father’s problem.”
“But a big part. Losing ownership in Sullivan and Murray Oil made my father feel like he was less than nothing. My mother left him because of that loss. She stripped him of what little wealth and self-esteem he had left. Alone, without his company or his wife, he grew depressed. He wouldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. I’d hear the stairs creak as he paced at night.
“Then early one morning I heard a shot. When I called his name, he didn’t answer. I found him in the shop attached to our garage. In a pool of blood on the floor, dead. I still don’t know if it was an accident or … what I feared it was. He was gone. At first I was frightened. Then I became angry. I wanted to blame someone, to get even, to make his death right. I lived for revenge. But now that I’ve almost achieved my goal of taking back Murray Oil, it’s as if my fever’s burned out.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she teased, touching his damp brow.
“I mean my fever for revenge, which was what kept me going.”
“So,” she asked, “what will you live for now?”
“I don’t know. I guess a lot of people just wake up in the morning and go to work, then come home at night and drink while they flip channels with their remote.”
“Not you.”
“Who’s to say? Maybe such people are lucky. At least they’re not driven by hate, as I was.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like for you.” She’d always been driven by the need for love.
When he stared into her eyes with fierce longing, she pulled him close and ran her hands through his hair. “You are young yet. You’ll find something to give your life meaning,” she said.
“Well, it won’t be love, because I’ve experienced love’s dark side for too many years. I want you to know that. You are special, but I can’t ever love you, no matter how good we are together. I’m no longer capable of that emotion.”
“So you keep telling me,” she said, pretending his words didn’t hurt.
“I just want to be honest.”
“Do we always know our own truths?”
“Darlin’,” he whispered. “Forgive me if I sounded too harsh. It’s just that … I don’t want to hurt you by raising your expectations about something I’m incapable of. Other women have become unhappy because of the way I am.”
“You’re my family’s enemy. Why would I ever want to love you?”
Wrapping her legs around him, she held him for hours, trying to comfort the boy who’d lost so much as well as the angry man who’d gained a fortune because he’d been consumed by a fierce, if misplaced, hatred.
“My father had nothing to do with your father’s death,” she whispered. “He didn’t.”
“You have your view, and I have mine,” he said. “The important thing is that I don’t hold you responsible for your father’s sins any longer.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
After that, he was silent. Soon afterward he let her go and rolled onto his side.
She lay awake for hours. Where would they go from here? He had hated her family for years. Had he really let go of all those harsh feelings? Had she deluded herself into thinking he wasn’t her enemy?
What price would she pay for sleeping with a man who probably only saw her as an instrument for revenge?
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