The Dead Husband by Carter Wilson (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📗

you very much as an adult. I’m just wondering what it is that you regret about yourself.”

I push back in my chair, making myself smaller. “That’s a hell of a question. Especially given our…past.”

“I don’t see much value in small questions.”

“That I believe.”

“Okay, I’ll start then,” he says. His voice is so calm, so smooth, just that same tone he always has. Stern and reassuring at the same time, the voice of quiet authority. “I like women too much. I see a pretty lady, and I just want to sweep her off her feet. And by that, I mean screw her.”

“God, Dad.”

“Just being honest with you. The thing is, I never meet an attractive woman I want to spend time with outside the bedroom. Other than those moments, I just want to be alone.”

“So that’s your vice?”

“That, and I have an insatiable need to conquer everyone I deal with in my business. I guess that’s the pattern. I see a pretty company, I want to buy it and then sell it off in pieces. Companies and women. I just want to have my way with them. Then, the second I get what I want, I feel nothing.” He takes a sip, allowing the alcohol to linger in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing, chasing the numb. “Pretty much nothing at all.”

“Well, that’s depressing,” I say. “So what’s the point of it all, then?”

“Exactly,” he answers. “What the point?” My father rises, walks over, and pours himself another. He’s always been a heavy drinker, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen him drunk. The alcohol just settles deep into his bones, fortifying rather than unsteadying him. When he sits again, he says, “It’s like I’m chasing some feeling I haven’t experienced in a long time, and I can’t even describe what that feeling is anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever catch it again, but I keep trying. I do believe that’s the definition of insanity.”

“You could take a cruise.”

He laughs, a short, bitter bark. “Yeah, suppose I could.” He flashes me another look, those eyes squinted as always. “So I’ve told you my vices. My weaknesses. So what about you?”

I’ve been thinking of my vices since the second he brought it up. How do you define a vice, exactly? At what point does something cross the line between being a simple human frailty and a significant character flaw?

There is one thing that bubbles to the surface. One thing about me I know to be true. Whether it’s a flaw or not, it’s the first thing I thought of when he asked.

“I’m not good at forgiving,” I say.

This time, his laugh has sincere delight in it. “Are you kidding me? Rosie, that’s not a vice. That’s a virtue. And, by the way, you can thank me for that trait.”

“And I have a hard time moving on from the past.”

He considers this for a bit, nodding.

“The past is a whore,” he finally says. “The present is your mistress. The future is your only true love.”

I don’t completely understand what he means, but the word mistress burns into me and makes me say what I do next without much thought.

“I was going to leave Riley.”

His face freezes for a second, followed by an almost imperceptible raising of his eyebrows.

“Interesting.”

I lower my voice, though I know we’re far beyond earshot of Max’s room.

“I told him I wanted a divorce.”

“When?”

“Six months ago. I was about to move out when he died.”

“Did Max know?”

“No,” I say. “I don’t think so. I didn’t tell him. Maybe Riley did, but I doubt it.”

“What was your plan?” My father is always about the plan. “Where were you going to go?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I had to get away.”

He sits up, leans forward, and cradles his glass in both hands. I have his full attention, and it’s a bit unnerving. I both fear and admire his intensity.

“Why?” he asks.

I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, then release it and tell him something I haven’t told anyone else.

“He was cheating on me.”

My father considers this and offers no more emotion than a feeble grimace. “Cocksucker,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s referring to Riley or the bitch he slept with. “Can’t say I’m not surprised, though. I always knew he wasn’t good enough for you.”

Men. Fucking men. Why is their field of vision so completely narrow? “Dad, I wasn’t even good enough for you. You cut me off as soon as I wanted to leave Bury.”

“You cut yourself off, Rosie, which was the best decision you could have made. Made you stronger, smarter. You think your sister would have made that choice?” He shakes his head. “No way.”

“So why do you enable her now?” I ask. “You hired Peter. You still give money to Cora. Why do it if you think it’s hurting her?”

He looks at me as if I’ve just asked why the sky is blue. “Because she’s Cora, and you’re Rose.” He takes his index finger and loops it around the rim of his rocks glass. One time. Two. “How long had he been cheating on you?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think at least six months.”

“Who was it?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s always essential to know the enemy.”

My stomach churns every time I think of Riley with that woman. We’d already grown apart by the time I found out, but the simmering rage that stirs in me when I think about walking in on them in our apartment makes me want to throw my glass against the wall and watch it burst into shards.

“She was one of his business partners,” I say. “Also married.”

He nods, as if this all makes perfect sense. “Did she go to the funeral?”

“I made it very clear she wasn’t welcome.”

“Does Max know about her?”

I don’t know the answer to this. “I hope not,” I say. “He knows there were problems. Arguments he witnessed. Riley and I said some things I wish Max hadn’t heard.”

My