Page 116 of Things We Do in the Dark
“And when I didn’t turn out the way you hoped, when you decided that I didn’t meet your definition of what a good person was, when youcouldn’tfixme, I becameless thanto you. Even now, all these years later, you’re expecting me to apologize to you for the choices I made when I was twenty, that had nothing to do with you. I can say that I’m sorry I left Toronto with you thinking I was dead—I agree that was a shit move. But I won’t say I’m sorry for anything else, because you don’t know what it’s like, Drew.”
Paris is heaving.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be born into a life of cruelty and abuse, and you don’t know what it’s like to have to claw your way out in order to have any sense of self-worth. There’s probably a long line of people who will always wonder if I actually did kill my husband, and there’s nothing I can do about that. They’re allowed to think whatever they want. But not one of those people is allowed in this house, because I decided a long time ago that I’m done being everyone’s toilet. You no longer get to shit your opinions on me. So if you’re going to sit there like the king of perfect, you can take your Raptors hat, go back to Toronto, and go fuck yourself with it.”
She gets up and walks away. If she stays in the kitchen, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. She plops down on the living room sofa and puts her head in her hands.
She’s so tired. So tired of the journey she took to get here, and already exhausted just thinking about the thousand more miles she still needs to go. It doesn’t matter that the murder charge was dropped. There will always be whispers, questions, doubt.
And she hasn’t even dealt with Ruby yet.
A few minutes later, Drew takes a seat beside her on the couch. He hands her a fresh beer. He’s gotten himself another one, too.
“I deserved that,” he says quietly. “Joey—”
“It’s Paris now.”
“It feels weird to call you that,” Drew says. “But you’re right. You’re Paris now. I’m sorry, okay? In another life, you and I were best friends. I don’t know where things stand now. I do know I want to understand. The last time I saw you, you were on a stretcher under a tarp, being moved into the back of an ambulance. I saw your body. I saw the burns. If not for the tattoo and your necklace…”
“You saw the burned body?” she asks, hearing the anguish in his voice.
He nods. “It was bad.”
She slumps into the sofa. For nearly two decades, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about Mae, who was so vibrant, the kind of girl who could instantly change the energy of a room just by walking into it. She had loved Mae. Just like she had loved Drew.
Paris leans her head back against the sofa. She’s completely wiped out.
Drew looks at her. “I should go.”
“Stay,” she says, and it surprises them both. She reaches for his hand. “Just stay. Please. We can talk about the rest of it in the morning, if you still want to. But you’re the one person who knows me, Drew. So just… stay.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move, so Paris leans into him and rests her cheek on his shoulder. They stay like that for a while, and as she listens to him fall asleep first, she wonders what Drew would think if he knew the truth about Charles.
Because Drew doesn’t know her, not really. If he did, he would leave.
In the end, everybody leaves.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
When Paris wakes up the next morning, the doorbell is ringing and Drew is gone.
She sits up, the sofa blanket falling off her. At some point in the night, he must have covered her with it, which is something he used to do whenever she’d fall asleep in front of the TV in their apartment all those years ago. He was only here for maybe fourteen hours total, but already she feels his absence.
He didn’t even say goodbye.
She pads upstairs to retrieve her phone, and sees that she has several texts and emails, many from people who’ve been silent the past couple of weeks. The press release from the DA was released the evening before.The underlying cause of Jimmy Peralta’s death has been ruled undetermined. The District Attorney’s Office has withdrawn the first-degree murder charge against Paris Peralta.
Henry texted her a link to a local news station’s website where there’s a video of Sonny Everly’s response, which appears to have been filmed earlier that morning in front of his law office. “Jimmy Peralta’s death has not been ruled a homicide, because there’s simply no evidence to prove that it was,” her lawyer said to a dozen or so reporters, looking rather respectable in a suit and tie. “Even so, my client, Paris Peralta, has been cleared of all wrongdoing, and she respectfully requests that you all give her time and space to grieve her enormous loss.”
Henry has also texted,Don’t read the comments!which of course is a surefire way to make her want to read the comments. She scrolls down, and the first one she sees saysParis Peralta got away with murder!She puts her phone down immediately. In a lot of ways, it doesn’t matter that the murder charge against her has been dropped. She’s already been tried in the court of public opinion, and been found guilty. Sighing, she pads to the window and chances a peek out from behind the shades. Other than the usual sightseers across the street at Kerry Park, there’s nobody there.
It’s really over. Life can go back to normal. Except she has no idea what normal is now, without Jimmy.
The aroma of fresh coffee hits her when she enters the kitchen, and she’s surprised to see a half-full pot in the coffee maker. Somehow, the kitchen is clean. All the food from the night before has been stored away neatly in the fridge, dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She wonders if Zoe is here somewhere, because this is the kind of thing the assistant always did. But it’s not Zoe. Outside on the patio, Paris sees a man in one of the lounge chairs with his legs up, typing on a laptop.
She swallows. It’s Drew. He didn’t leave. When she opens the glass doors, he looks up with a grin.
“Good morning.” Drew closes his computer, and then stands, stretching his arms up over his head. He’s dressed in swim trunks and a damp tank top. “You slept ten hours. You must have needed it.”
