The Cruelest Stranger Page 19

  “Get over yourself,” he spits.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t stand there and talk like you’re that much better than me. You’re thirty years old, but you might as well be a miserable old man. You think saving this kid and giving her some privileged life is going to redeem you? Erase all the shitty things you’ve done? Not how it works, Bennett.”

  “I’ve never claimed to be perfect, but I’m sure as hell not going to put myself on your level. You fucked your sister.”

  “Adopted sister.”

  I throw my hands up, chuffing. “Like that makes it better.”

  “That girl deserves a family,” Errol says. “Let her stay in the system. Let a family who actually wants her adopt her.”

  “I want her. And I’ve already adopted her. The papers have been filed. She’s officially a Schoenbach, legally and otherwise.”

  He groans. “You can hardly take care of yourself, how are you going to take care of a kid?”

  “I’ve got help, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “What, that baby-voiced blonde you’re screwing? That’s your help?” He’s got way too much to lose here to be so damn smug, but I know what he’s trying to do. “You and I both know you’ll screw that up sooner or later. There’s a reason you can’t keep ‘em longer than a few months. They find out what a coldhearted bastard you are and they leave you like they found you—miserable and alone.”

  “Anything else you want to add?” I remain unfazed—the opposite of the effect he’s going for. He can spew all the vitriol he wants about Astaire. I’m not giving him a reaction. I’m not giving him any indication of how much she means to me because he’ll find a way to use it against me.

  Everything I’ve ever cared about, he’s found a way to ruin it.

  My first car—a vintage Challenger my father had restored specially for me. We had a love of classic cars (one of the few things we ever had in common), and that gift meant the world to me. I hadn’t owned it more than a week when Errol took it out for a joy ride … and somehow managed to wrap it around a tree while walking away with a handful of cuts and scrapes.

  The first serious girlfriend I had my senior year of high school—Errol came home from college for the summer, latched onto me like he’d missed me, when in actuality he was trying to impress my girlfriend with his older, wiser, more worldly ways. The weekend after the Fourth of July, I found him sneaking her up to his room through a side entry (unbeknownst to them), and I heard the springs of his mattress and her over-the-top moans all night.

  My signed first edition of Fredrich Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil—a gift from our late grandfather, with whom I was considerably close … used it as kindling for one of his infamous bonfire parties.

  I’m one-hundred percent convinced that the only reason he’s so thirsty for a spot on the board of directors at the corporation is so he can ruin that, too.

  I won’t let him ruin this.

  “Where the hell did you find her anyway?” he asks. “She’s got to be batshit-fucking-mental if she’s hooking up with you. You sure that’s the kind of mother figure you want around the kid? And how long until you get sick of this one and kick her to the curb?”

  “For the record, she’s amazing with the kid, but that’s the point. That’s why I’m keeping her around. She’s more for Honor than me,” I lie. As long as he believes I’m indifferent toward her, he won’t waste his energy. “She helps out with Honor and it’s a nice arrangement we have, but it’s only that. An arrangement. There’s no love. No expectations. Certainly not a future. If she gets sick of me, she gets sick of me. In the meantime, she’s good for Honor.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “She’s a smart woman.”

  “So basically you’re playing house.” He huffs, hands on his hips like he has any room to chastise me. “It’s just like you to use people. You know how women are. She’s going to get attached to the kid, attached to you, and eventually the whole thing will blow up in your face and who’s going to get hurt in the end? Not you, you coldhearted prick.”

  “I don’t see how any of this concerns you in the end.” I shrug and check my watch. Honor should be home any minute. “Anyway, we’re done here. Discussion’s over. If you have half a brain, you’ll leave here and head straight to your attorney’s office and have him drop the paternity suit immediately. If the suit isn’t dropped by the end of the week, I’m pressing send on those emails.”

  I hook my hand on his thin shoulder, give it a squeeze, and guide him out of my study, only once we reach the end of the hall and come around the corner, I find Astaire standing in the middle of the foyer.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  Errol takes his sweet time showing himself to the door. Before he goes, he turns back to shoot me a cruel smirk.

  Honor’s backpack rests at her feet and the sound of cartoons plays from the living room.

  I was so invested in my conversation with Errol that I didn’t hear anyone come home.

  “Eulalia …” Her voice is broken and her eyes are glossed with tears. “I sent her to the store … told her I’d take Honor home … I … I have to go.”

  “Astaire, wait.” I reach for her, but she swats me away.

  I don’t have to ask how much she heard.

  “It’s not what it sounded like,” I say as she twists the door knob. “Seriously, let me explain.”

  She says nothing. She won’t look at me. When she turns to pull the door closed behind her, tears dampen her cheeks, and finally, she peers up at me through wet lashes.

  “I wanted this to be real.” Her words are hushed and shattered. “But in the back of my mind, I always wondered if it was too good to be true. Now I know.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, she shuts the door.

  I won’t make a scene and I can’t chase after her, not with Honor here.

  Leaning against the door, I let her go.

  And it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done—but I’ll get her back.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that what we have isn’t too good to be true—it is true.

  47

  Astaire

  Tears cloud my vision the entire drive home.

  Giant snowflakes melt on my windshield, smearing as my wipers drag them away.

  I had this whole evening planned—I wanted to take Bennett and Honor to the park to build a snowman. I’d even scrounged up buttons and a carrot for the nose as well as a spare hat and scarf. When Eulalia showed up at pick up, I asked if she wouldn’t mind running to the store to grab a few things for dinner and told her I’d take Honor home.

  It was going to be a surprise.

  But it turns out the surprise was on me.

  Bennett’s words dominate my every thought, playing again and again, to the point I can still hear them as clear as the first time. “For the record, she’s amazing with the kid, but that’s the point. That’s why I’m keeping her around. She’s more for Honor than me … She helps out with Honor and it’s a nice arrangement we have, but it’s only that. An arrangement There’s no love. No expectations. Certainly not a future. If she gets sick of me, she gets sick of me. In the meantime, she’s good for Honor.”

  Everything between us has been a lie.

  Everything.

  All he needed was a stand-in mother figure for his niece … and the ass on the side was nothing more than a perk seeing how his bachelor weekends filled with casual sex are out of the picture for the next thirteen years.

  I’m halfway home when I think about what Beth said last week, about Schoenbach men ruining their women.

  Errol was a monster in his own way, but there’s a chance Bennett is cut from similar cloth.

  They share the same blood, after all.

  And Schoenbach men clearly have a thing for using women.

  As soon as I get to my apartment, I head to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, avoiding the light because I don’t
need to look in the mirror to know what a fool looks like.

  So many things I could have said to him, but I’d have been wasting my breath.

  Every conversation we’ve ever had, has been a lie—a complete waste of him.

  The spoken words have no effect on him, whether they’re given or taken. He does what he wants, to whom he wants, and that’s that.

  I change into comfortable clothes, silence my phone, and curl up on the couch while Gentlemen Prefer Blondes plays in the background. My eyes are on the screen, but I’m not watching. It’s just on to fill the void. To keep me company. To remind me that there are still things in this world that I love.

  Even if Bennett can no longer be one of them.

  There’s an ache in my chest, a deep void that wasn’t there an hour ago.

  And then it hits me—he didn’t have a heart, so he stole mine.

  48

  Bennett

  “We’re just waiting on Dr. Rathburn, then you’ll be free to go,” the nurse at my check-up says the following afternoon. She shuts the door to the exam room, and the plastic pharmaceutical company-branded clock over the door jolts.

  Honor’s school dismisses in fifteen minutes, but it’ll take at least twenty minutes to get there by the time I leave. Longer if there’s traffic.

  I’d originally given Eulalia the afternoon off because Astaire had planned to bring Honor home with her after work, but given yesterday’s events, obviously that isn’t going to happen.

  Five minutes pass.

  Then ten.

  Still no Dr. Rathburn.

  An hour ago, I called Eulalia to see if there was any chance she could come in this afternoon, but she was already in Gary, visiting her nephew.

  Left with no other choice, I text Astaire and ask if she can bring Honor home today.

  At exactly 3:01pm, she texts back with a “yes.”

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  * * *

  Honor’s glittery backpack is the first thing I see when I get home. When I round the hallway, the second thing I see is Astaire.

  “Hey.” I place my keys on the kitchen counter.

  Her purse is hanging from her shoulder. It’s hard to say if that’s because she just got here or because she wanted to be ready to leave the instant I came home.

  “Thanks for bringing her home. My appointment ran long,” I say.

  “Not a problem.” She avoids eye contact. “She’s in her room playing.”

  Silence invades the space between us.

  “Did you get my calls?” I ask an obvious question. I’ve been calling her since the moment she left last night.

  “I did. And your voice mails and text messages. Got them all.”

  “Okay. So … can we talk about them?”

  “Nope.” She eyes the foyer and drags in a breath that makes her shoulders shudder before finally turning her attention to me. “You are the worst kind of person. You use people and you lie and you’re beyond cruel. I’ll stand by my promise to be there for Honor in any way that she needs me—but you and I are finished.”

  “Astaire.” I move closer to her. “If you’ll let me explain.”

  She places her hand out to stop me. “You’re only going to tell me what I want to hear. But I’m not interested in that. I want the truth. And that’s not something you’re capable of giving me. So, no, Bennett. We’re done.”

  I let her go one more time—but it’ll be the last time I do.

  I said what I said to Errol, and she heard what she heard. I can’t take that back. And I can stand here and explain until I’m blue in the face if she’d let me, but at the end of the day, it isn’t what you say—it’s what you do.

  I have to show her what she means to me.

  49

  Astaire

  “Hey, stranger, long time, no see!” Ophelia wraps her arms around me the instant I walk into her namesake bar Friday night.

  I needed to get out for a bit and now that Bennett has Honor, I figured this would be a safe place to seek refuge for a couple of hours. Besides, sitting around stewing and feeling sorry for myself gets old after a day or two.

  “What are we drinking?” she asks.

  “Gin and tonic.” I take a seat at the bar. I’d order that lemony champagne drink the last bartender made for me, but I can’t remember the name to save my life.

  “Eduardo, get the girl a gin and tonic.” Ophelia raps on the bar top. The scent of roses and violets wafts from her as she moves, and her lips are the brightest shade of pink I never knew existed.

  This afternoon, Honor asked if I was coming over tonight. She didn’t press it when I told her I wasn’t, and it didn’t seem to upset her. Fortunately, she’s too young to understand that the dynamics between Bennett and myself have changed.

  I’ll always be there for her. Always.

  Ophelia trots to the other side of the bar and mixes herself a martini with two stuffed olives. “So, I heard you’re seeing Schoenbach.”

  “What? Where’d you hear that?” I ask.

  The first time I met Ophelia, I never gave her my name. The second time I ran into her here, we had a quick chat by the ladies’ room and I took the time to properly introduce myself. There’s a warmth about her, and she’s one of those people you meet once and feel an instant connection with.

  “People talk around here.” Ophelia winks and then nods toward Eduardo. “Schoenbach used to be a regular. Word on the street is he was last seen in here with you … and he hasn’t been back since.”

  Eduardo slides a cardboard coaster in front of me before delivering my drink.

  “Thank you,” I say, turning back to her. “We were seeing each other. I guess. If you can call it that. But we’re not anymore. Turns out everything he told me was a lie.”

  “Really?” She comes around the bar, takes the seat beside me, and rests her head on her hand, which I take it as an open invitation to spill my guts.

  So I do.

  I tell her everything.

  Or at least, my side of everything.

  I leave out a few scandalous details, a few of the irrelevant pieces Bennett shared with me in confidence.

  But she gets the gist of it. When I’m done, she exhales, deflated and speechless. Her martini still untouched.

  “I don’t know …” she finally speaks. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “What part?” I snort and sip my drink.

  “All of it.” Ophelia frowns. “I’ve known the man for years. Years. And I’ve never seen him date anyone, certainly never seen him with the same woman more than once. He spent all that time with you and went to all that effort and all that trouble and basically asked you to spend the rest of your life with him … just so the little girl he adopted would have a mother figure?”

  “He trusted me. He knew I was good with kids. And I already had a connection with her, so yeah. In his eyes, I was probably his best option.” I take another drink. “Plus regular sex. Let’s not forget that. Lord knows he can’t be taking random women home on the weekends anymore.”

  “It’s just … the man you’re describing sounds so self-serving,” she says. “And the Schoenbach I’ve known for years is anything but.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Every year, we have a Thanksgiving food drive. Every year he donates a truck’s worth of canned food. Two years ago, Eduardo mentioned taking a second job because he had to replace the roof on his mother’s house in Naperville—Schoenbach came in the next night and wrote him a check for the roof. Last year, my dad needed knee surgery, but the cheap ass insurance he’s got would only cover part of it, and hardly covered the physical therapy he was going to need after that. Bennett took care of it.”

  “Those are all extremely generous things, but I think we’re comparing apples and oranges here …”

  “My point is, Bennett likes to take care of people. And he treats everyone like family. At least, in his own way. I know he isn’t close with his own family, so I kind
of always chalked it up to that.” Ophelia shrugs, stirring her martini with a toothpick. “At the end of the day, he’s this rich, lonely guy with a heart of pure gold. Like … Batman.”

  I laugh through my nose.

  It feels good to laugh again. Reminds me that I’m human. Still alive. Still capable of feeling the other spectrum of emotions.

  “Honest to God, Astaire,” she says. “If I was into guys, I’d be all over him. I’d do whatever it takes to lock. That. Down.”

  “It’s nice that he helps people …”

  “He doesn’t just help people,” she says. “It’s deeper than that with him. I think he resents his money so he gives it away, but he’s so damn good at what he does, he makes more money than he can spend.” She throws her hands up. “Just my theory. But I think there’s a lot of self-loathing underneath all of that benefactor-ing. And maybe that’s why he pushes people away so much. He’s never had an actual relationship since I’ve known him. He’s always done the casual thing. Hooking up with random, beautiful women whenever the mood strikes him. Makes me think he doesn’t feel worthy of being loved.”

  She takes a drink.

  I take a drink.

  A moment later, after her words have settled, I speak. “That’s … deep.”

  “I’m also drunk.” Ophelia laughs, pressing her hand against my arm. “So take all of this with a grain of salt.”

  “You make him sound so enchanting …” I trace my fingertips along the logo on the side of my glass, lost in thought. “But I can’t stop thinking about what he said.”

  “Did you let him explain?”

  I shake my head. “No. He’s only going to tell me what I want to hear. He’s going to say he didn’t mean it. But if I go back to him, I’m going to question everything, all the time. I’m always going to wonder in the back of my head if he wants me because he loves me, or because I provide something he needs, something he can’t get anywhere else.”