CHAPTER TWENTY

I consider Edith's words about punishing the wrong people. It occurs to me that my behavior earlier with Vivian was punishing her for something that isn't her fault.

And it occurs to me that I have to apologize to her. Regardless of our personal relationship, what I did was rude. She didn't deserve that.

So, when I leave Edith's house, I head to Vivian's.

I hesitate a moment on the porch. A part of me really wants to be here. Another part of me really wishes I had never come here the first time. Most of me just wishes this was all over, and I was in class at CSULB well on my way to forgetting Autumn Downs and everyone who lives here.

But I have to do this. I can"t let the argument earlier be Vivian"s last memory of me or mine of her.

So, I lift my hand, but before I can knock, the door opens. Vivian is wearing a nightgown, the silk one she wears the other day. Her hair is down, and she's taken off her makeup. She's still beautiful, but she looks her age for the first time since I've seen her, and it affects me strangely.

Then she smiles, and I stop caring about that. "You gonna come in, or just stand there with your hand raised like a dummy?"

I follow her inside, and she leads me to the table. "Sit. I'll make you some tea."

Not wine, I notice. Not that I feel like drinking right now.

She starts the water boiling and asks, "So did you come to apologize for being a complete asshole earlier?"

I lower my eyes and nod.

"Words, sweetie."

The endearment cuts me, mostly because the tone she uses is not unlike my mother's when I was younger, before Annie died.

"I'm sorry for being a complete asshole earlier."

"And I forgive you." She smiles at me. "See how easy it is when you take a moment to think instead of just following your emotions everywhere they take you?"

I nod again. She begins to speak, but I don't want to hear her call me sweetie again, so I say, "Yes."

She nods, then turns back to the tea. I sit in silence while she finishes it. I don't know what to say. I know I should say something, but I can't figure out what.

"Come on," she says. "Let's go sit in the living room."

I follow her and start to sit on the chair, but when she sits on the couch, she pats the cushion next to her. I don't really feel like sex right now, but my body has other ideas. Yet another reminder that I'm only nineteen years old. What a blow to my ego this day has been.

I sit next to her, but instead of kissing me like I expect her to do, she pulls my head to her chest and starts stroking my hair. It"s the most comforting thing anyone could possibly do, but once more, it feels motherly, not the act of a lover. I don't know why that bothers me so much.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" she asks gently.

I don't want to tell her anything. I don't want to encourage her to keep petting me like I'm her little boy. I know that's petty of me, but there it is.

I can't help myself, though. I might not like this, but it appears that even I don't care what I would like right now.

"My sister died in a hit-and-run when I was ten years old."

She pauses for an instant, and I can tell she wasn't expecting this. Then she continues to stroke my hair. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." I chuckled bitterly. "They never caught the guy. They figured out the model of car, though. A Mercedes-Maybach S600. Brand new. A V12 model."

"Ah. That's why you hate rich people."

I consider correcting her, but she"s right. I do hate rich people. I fucking hate them. They can get away with murder, and no one gives a shit. Meanwhile, a poor kid with an absentee father and an alcoholic mother steals a few cars from people who can afford to replace them, and he gets told he"s one more step away from a life in and out of prison.

"Yes."

We stay silent for a while, and though I hate to admit it, the feel of her hand running softly through my hair is starting to relax me. When I'm relaxed, I start talking more.

"That's why I want justice for Lila. I want someone to care that she was murdered. I want it to matter that those rich assholes got away with killing her. I know she was rich too, but…"

"But she's not alive to throw her wealth around, and Julian and Clara are."

"Exactly. It's bullshit."

She's silent for a moment. Maybe she's trying to think if she should ask the next question or not.

"Did you like her?"

Now, it"s my turn to think about how to answer it. I consider lying, but I doubt Vivian is jealous. In a moment of clarity, I realize that I'm probably not the first young lover she's had, and I won't be the last. A slightly more bitter part of my brain wonders if that habit is what led to her divorce. She claims that he cheated on her, but who knows if anything anyone here says is the truth.

Well, I'll tell the truth.

"Yeah. At least, I think I would have. I only got to talk to her for a few minutes, but she seemed… I don't know. Normal. Maybe that's not the right word. Normal here means something different."

"She seemed like you."

"Yes."

I feel tense again, so I wait for Vivian"s caresses to soothe me once more before I continue. "She was goofy and quirky and… a little lonely. She hated her parents, too. I can relate to all of that."

"Why do you hate your parents?"

"Because they hate me."

She pauses again. Lot of stunners for Vivian Chase today. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Not anymore, anyway. As far as I'm concerned, they can go screw themselves."

"I don't blame you for feeling that way."

She doesn't ask to know why I think they hate me, but I tell her anyway. "Dad left when I was twelve, two years after Annie died."

"That's your sister?"

"Yeah. I remember I was crying and begging him to stay, and he looked at me like… like I was something you scrape off the bottom of your shoe."

"Poor baby."

That rubs me in all the wrong ways. I sit up, and I"m grateful when her hand falls, and she doesn"t try to put it back on my head. "I hate that I cried. I hate that I begged that asshole to stay. That piece of shit didn't deserve to know that his son was going to miss him. He doesn't deserve to look back and feel like he was worth missing."

She smiles sadly. "I hate to say it, but he probably doesn't look back at all."

I know that, obviously, but hearing it said out loud still hurts. I look away from Vivian and stare at the blank tv. "Mom's an alcoholic. I mean a constant one. She started drinking before Dad left. I can't remember the last time I saw her sober. We live off of government assistance and the money I can bring in."

"That's horrible."

"You don't even know," I say, a little angrily. I take a breath to calm myself, and when she puts her hand on the back of my neck and starts massaging me, I don't stop her. "She told me when I was fourteen that she wished I was the one who died."

That stuns Vivian again. She gasps and says, "Oh my God. Oh, Nate. I'm so sorry."

I shrug. "What can you do? Parents have favorites, and then they have the kids they wish were dead."

I wait for Vivian to tell me that my parents didn't grieve properly and that if my mother got sober, she'd stop thinking the way she does. I've heard that from people before. It's just another excuse, and I'll dismantle it when she says it.

She doesn't say it, and after a moment, I say. "That's why I want justice for Lila."

"To get back at your parents by punishing hers?"

"No." I stop a moment.

Up until now, I thought that was exactly what I wanted. Now that I think about it, though, my motives are different.

"I want justice for Annie. I want justice for the damage her death did to our family. I want the rich asshole who hit her to be punished for destroying four people, then just driving off like it didn't matter. But I'll never get it. So I guess I feel like if I can get justice for Lila, I'll get justice for her too. I don't know. It's probably just what I tell myself so I can get through the day."

"Well, the main thing is that you're getting through the day. It's not easy, but you're doing it. You're making something out of your life, and you're not falling into something that could get you hurt or killed. You're surviving. That makes you strong."

The rush of guilt that hits me when she says that drives away all the resentment I feel about being treated like a child. I hang my head and say, "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not. I shot heroin the night before Lila died."

Vivian's hand stops moving again. When she moves it again, it's only to take it away completely. My heart sinks to my feet, and I say, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload all of this on you. I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I'll stay away from the Kensington from now on. I did my best, but I'm only making things worse. I'll stay away from… I mean, you don't have to…"

She cups my face in hers and turns me so our eyes meet. "Hush. Come to bed."

She doesn't say it like she wants me. She says it like she knows I feel bad, and she's trying to comfort me. It just makes me feel more like a kid being comforted by his mother. I know that's stupid because she's about to do something very unmotherly to me, but it still feels like she's just soothing a crying child.

I want to say no. I want to leave. I want to show myself that I can handle this on my own, and I don't need what she's offering.

But I don't. Instead, I follow her to her bedroom, and when she turns to me and drops her nightgown, I take what she has to offer desperately and without hesitation.