Lies That Save Them

Daniel froze behind me.

“I’ll get it,” I whispered despite how scared to death I was.

I did not wait to hear his reply. I crossed the room, pushed the door open ajar just enough to squeeze through it, and entered the corridor. I shut the door behind me and locked it before Clara could utter another word.

She frowned immediately.

“Oh, I was not expecting you back.” I grumbled drawing her hand, trying to pull her out of there.

“What is your reason in locking your door?” she said.

I forced a smile. “I was cleaning. I did not want the wind to blow everything about.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you mind that? And why do you look so…so rough.”

I laughed, too loudly. “Since always.”

“I was looking for Dad,” she said after giving me a long look. “I checked his room. He’s not there.”

I swallowed. “He… um. He was in the garden earlier. That’s the last place I saw him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The garden?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “He said he wanted fresh air.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay. Let’s check.”

I pulled her hand and walked down the corridor, my legs getting weaker with each stride. We went out, and the night air was as cold as a slap on the skin. The garden lamps were lit and the plants and patio chairs were shadowed.

“Dad?” Clara called out.

No answer.

We went on, glancing around the benches, the little fountain, the side walk.

“He’s not here,” she said.

“He must have returned indoors,” I answered. “Maybe he went to the kitchen.”

She sighed. “By the word of God, he never remains in one place. Does he know he has a broken ankle?”

She turned and walked back towards the house and I followed her back into the house. Every sound felt too loud. It seemed to me that each second was being drawn out.

As we walked, she glanced at me and that made my heart skip a beat.

“So,” she said casually. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just tired.”

She nodded. “I missed you.”

“I missed you as well,” I said, and this time I was not lying.

We entered the living room, and there he was.

Daniel was standing close to the couch, as though nothing had occurred, now dressed up. As if he had not been in my room a few minutes ago. As though he had never crossed the line which could never be uncrossed.

Clara smiled when she saw him.

“Dad,” she said softly.

She then came up and gave him a hug, careful and slowly.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m better,” he said. “My ankle’s healed. Thanks to Lina.”

When he said my name he looked at me.

Just for a second.

Clara turned to me. “Thank you.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

She put her hands together. “Okay, I have news.”

Daniel drew himself up. “What kind of news?”

“Good news,” she said, smiling. “For both of you.”

She motioned for us to sit. Daniel sat on the couch. I stood a moment or two and then sat down on the armchair opposite him.

Clara took a breath.

“I talked to Mom,” she said.

The face of Daniel changed immediately. His pose changed, his eyes becoming more alert.

“And?” he asked.

“I at length persuaded her,” Clara added. “She agreed to come back.”

Silence filled the room.

Clara said, “she was coming home tomorrow morning. She agreed that she would like to have another attempt. She does not want a divorce anymore.”

Daniel’s face softened. Relief came so distinctly over him that it hurt my chest.

“That’s… that’s good,” he said. “That’s really good.”

“I knew it,” Clara said happily. “I knew that she would be around if I had time to talk to her.”

She looked at me. “Aren’t you happy?”

I forced a smile.

“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”

Inside, something cracked.

Daniel got up and embraced Clara. I saw his arms round her, saw his eyes shut as though some burden was taken off his shoulders.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly. “Thank you. Thank you Clara for doing what I failed to do.”

Clara beamed. “And we will be a family once more.”

Family.

The word burned.

I stood up abruptly. “I think I should go to my room.”

Clara looked surprised. “Already?”

“I’m really tired,” I said.

Daniel looked at me again.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight,” I replied.

I turned on my heels before either of them could prevent me.

I shut the door in my room and leant against it. My hands dropped along the wood and I sunk to the floor.

What had I done?

I pressed my palms on my face trying to wipe the memory of his hands, his voice, the manner in which he had looked at me. I felt sick. Ashamed. Stupid.

He was married.

He was my best friend’s father.

And I had allowed myself to think, but only a moment, that it was something.

I arose slowly, and wiped my face. I went up to the mirror and gazed at myself.

“You did this,” I whispered. “How could you fuck a married man!”

I heard some movement at my door. Footsteps. A pause.

I held my breath.

I opened the door slightly and peeped in but there was no one.

I shut the door once more and banged my forehead against it.

What was I thinking!

And how should I allow my best friend father to fuck me!