Chapter Twenty-Six - Weston
“You know what’s funny?”
“What?” Tori asks, looking down at her plate.
“All the other Misters had to keep that night a secret from everyone. Remember that guy, Five? Who told us not to talk to each other?”
“Sure,” she says, her voice small and sad. “I remember you telling me about him.”
“Well, none of the other guys ever got to tell their side of the story. Not to the rest of us, or their parents, or even their lawyers. Because Five came in and took over. Sent us on our ways. We talked on the phone, sure. But not about the case. It was always about what we were doing. What we’d do next. How we might help each other. But I always had you. And I didn’t have to tell you what happened because you saw the whole thing. So I guess I made a mistake back then.”
“How do you figure?” She looks up at me, those brilliant violet eyes wide and watery like she might cry. She loves me. I know she does.
“I let you down. I didn’t mean to let you down, Tori. It just happened so fast.”
“I know.” She sighs. “It did happen fast. That’s why I wasn’t sure if we were real.”
“We’re real, Miss Arias. And maybe I didn’t start this trip with getting to know you better in mind, but it’s not a bad way to end it, right?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She says it in a very firm voice. There is no way she will tell me what’s hidden behind those eyes. No way. Not tonight.
“OK,” I say, giving in. “But are you willing to listen? Because I think I do want to talk about it. My past, I mean. Not yours.”
She blinks at me. “How much more is there?”
I shrug. “A lot more.”
She considers this for a few moments, but remains silent.
“Are you interested?”
She nods. “Yes.”
I stand up and walk around the small table, extending my hand. “Then come with me.”
I lead her back upstairs—all the way upstairs—to the bedrooms. And then I take her into the master bedroom where the view out the massive floor-to-ceiling window is palm trees thrashing, rain pouring down so hard that rivers are running down the glass, and the angry ocean that wants to eat this island alive. I’ve got a blanket on the floor in front of the window and I motion for her to take a seat.
She does, and I do as well.
“Put your head in my lap, Victoria. And look up at me as I talk.” It’s an order, and she hates orders. But for whatever reason, she complies. I stroke her hair, loving the softness of it. And the smell. Even though it smells like salt, and rain, and wind, and it hasn’t been brushed in two days.
I love this version of Victoria Arias. The wild one. Not just on the inside, but the outside too. She never lets herself be wild in appearance. She is always tailored, and polished, and put-together.
“My father was a drunk.” I look into her eyes to see how she takes this, but she just nods her head for me to keep going. “Not the harmless kind, either. The wife-beating kind. The kid-beating kind. The kind who takes his paycheck at the end of the weekend and buys enough beer to put him into a stupor for the weekend. My mom left when I was six.”
“She left you behind?”
“She had no choice. She was committed for trying to kill herself.”
“Oh, my God, West. That’s terrible. Where is she now?”
“Oh, she succeeded. About six months after they took her away. I think she was always mentally ill, you know? Always on the verge of suicide. They let her out on a weekend furlough because she was getting better. So my dad and I went to the mainland to pick her up. And he told her she wasn’t going back to the hospital. He was taking her home. She told him how happy she was about that. And we all went to lunch before taking the boat back to Nantucket. And before you ask me how we got to live on Nantucket if we were so poor, that house was a shack. It was in my father’s family for six generations. It had an outhouse, for fuck’s sake. So that’s how.”
“Jesus, West.”
“So we got to the restaurant and we all ordered our food. And my mom said she had to use the restroom. She never came back. She slit her wrists in the bathroom with a steak knife. And do you know what my father said the next day, when we were finally back home?” I don’t wait for an answer. It’s a rhetorical question. “He said, ‘She could’ve done it before she ordered the food so I didn’t have to pay her bill.’”
Tori sits up, her eyes wide and her mouth open. “Your dad said that?”
“Yeah. He couldn’t care less about her. And even I knew, at the age of six, that she killed herself because he was taking her home.”
“I just can’t picture your dad saying that. He looks so normal in those photographs. So that’s your step-mom with him? How do you even talk to him still?”
I just keep going. Why not? I’m on a roll now. “The next year I got that job with another boat company. My father had a fishing boat, right? But he never worked regularly. He was too drunk to get out of bed four days of the week. And I started making money to pay our bills. So you see, Tori, you pegged me all wrong. I’m not the guy you think I am.”
“And then you found that treasure? When was that?”
“I was fourteen. I was a straight-A student in school because I saw the rich kids on the island. They were only summer people, but I saw them. Met some of them. Learned about them, and their lives, and what kind of futures their parents planned for them. And I wanted to be just like them. So I made it happen. I was fourteen when my dad and I found that treasure. It’s funny how money changes your life. It certainly changed mine. I took that money and got into a private school on the mainland. And the rest just sort of worked itself out.”
She looks out the window as she thinks about my story.
I wait. I wait for her to come to a conclusion, or ask another question, or tell me she’s so sorry.
But she does more than that.
She starts with the words I so desperately need to hear.
“Lucio Gori Junior was the first boy I ever had sex with.”
I think I stop breathing.
“And it wasn’t consensual. Not in my eyes. I was only eleven.” Tori looks up at me. “He was seventeen.” She looks out the window.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“He called me his girlfriend. He took me on ‘dates.’ And I use the term ‘dates’ in quotation marks because they were trips to the woods, or to the back of his father’s garage, or wherever he could find that got us alone together. He’d say— He’d say, ‘Come on, Vicki.’ God, I hate the name he used to call me. ‘Come on, Vicki. We have a date today.’ And I’d go. Because my mom worked for his dad.” She looks up at me again. “His dad is a dangerous man. You don’t fuck with Lucio Gori Senior.”
She doesn’t need to spell it out for me. I can read between the lines.
“But… when I was fourteen Lucio Junior found out I liked another boy. My mom had already told Senior I’d marry his son. I was promised to him. That’s why we lived in one of their houses for free. You wouldn’t think this kind of arranged marriage thing happens in America anymore, but it does. It does when you’re a girl with a mother like I had. So Junior beat the shit out of me. I was so badly hurt they had to take me to a doctor. Not a hospital, but their doctor, you know?”
I nod, even though she’s not looking at me. I know.
“And they had to leave me there overnight. And I knew that if I didn’t take a stand, right now, in this moment, while everyone was sleeping in the little makeshift hospital, while the Gori family was back at their house, and while my mother was off doing drugs or selling her body, or whatever the fuck it was she did… that I’d be stuck. So I ran away. I ran to the police station and found the man who would eventually adopt me. He was the detective in charge of organized crime in another part of New York. He took me there, out of Brooklyn. And that’s where I stayed. Safe. Brand-new life. A brand-new girl. A smart girl who tried hard and did all the right things.
“And then I got into Brown. On scholarship, thanks to my dad. And I forgot who I was and where I came from. Until one night Lucio Gori Junior showed up on my doorstep and I took another stand and told him we were done forever. That if he didn’t leave, I’d call the police. My roommates were home, so I guess he felt he had no choice. He left.”
“That’s what happened to you the night you met me?”
She nods. “Yes. And the next night, when I was attacked and raped after I spent the day with you, that was Lucio again. It happened in an alley, in broad daylight. It was always in broad daylight when he took me. Like he had nothing to hide. Like he was untouchable. He said, ‘You’re mine and I’ll take you whenever I want.’ But by some stroke of luck, he never came back. I thought maybe it was because I was dating you? And you were so high-profile at the time? I don’t know. But he never came back after that last attack.”
Fuck. This shit breaks my heart. I don’t know what to say except sorry. “I guess we both had it pretty tough growing up. I’m so fucking sorry, Tori. I wish you’d have told me sooner.”
She shrugs. “I think it worked itself out, you know? Why bring it all back up?”
I lean down and kiss her lips. Softly. Like I love her. And I do. I love her. “I would never do that to you,” I whisper. “I’d kill anyone who hurt you, Tori. I’d never rest until I got them back.”
“I know that, West. But I can’t help the way I feel. When people start talking commitment I get this panicked feeling in my chest and my heart starts racing. I was a piece of property to him, West. I cannot let myself be someone’s property again.”
I kiss her again and say, “I would never treat you that way, Tori. I don’t want to mow you down or keep you in line. I just want to grab your hand and bring you along for the ride.”
A tear leaks out of her eye and runs down her cheek. “I’ve never told anyone that story.”
“I’m so glad you told me.”
“I’m glad you told me your story too.”
My hand slips underneath her shirt and I caress her breast. She closes her eyes and I get this feeling of… power. Not power over her, power to make her feel better. I hate that she still has panic attacks, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t make me feel good when I’m the one who calms her down.
I just want her to need me.
“We could try again,” I say.
She takes a deep breath, never opening her eyes.
“We could drop off all this baggage and try again, Tori.”
“I love you,” she says. “I’ve always loved you. I want that so bad, even though I hate to admit it.”
“Why do you hate to admit it?” I ask, as I start unbuttoning the two buttons she has left on her silk blouse. “Why is it so terrible to have a partner in life? We could be good together, Tori. We could make so many good things together.”
Her eyes open and she places her hand on my stubbled cheek. Just the heat of her palm makes me want her so bad. “I want to believe that, but—”
I place a finger over her lips. “Just let me show you how much I understand what you need. OK? Just let me show you how well I know what you need.”