“No.” I heard him take a breath and blurted, “Yes!” before he could continue.
“Yes, you want me to stop, or—?”
“Can you just . . . I don’t know, summarize it for me?”
“Listen, if it was more entertaining with the accent, I can—”
“It’s not the accent.” I wasn’t sure what it was. “It just feels . . . I don’t know. Too connected. I don’t want to be connected to him again.”
I could picture Trey doing his squinty confused look. He did that a lot when I got kooky.
“Okay,” he said, like he’d decided to let this one slide. “So the summary is . . .” I could hear the paper rustling again. “Basically, she’s sorry for our loss, she’s glad Shay’s with you, and she wants us to know that he tried to change.”
“Tried? Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”
“Nope. She sounds sincere enough, though. I mean, what did she have to gain from writing?”
“Thankfully, not her daughter.” I was still getting over that fraction of a second when I’d thought she was suing to regain custody of Shayla.
“Makes me wonder what Shayla remembers of him,” Trey said. “You think she ever saw the Godzilla in the guy?”
“All she ever says is that she misses him and he was funny.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“Not distant? Short-tempered? Violent?”
“Not exactly in a four-year-old’s vocabulary, but no.” I didn’t like to admit it. “The first few months she was with me, I kept looking for signs that he’d hurt her.”
“And?”
“Haven’t found any yet.”
“Maybe he was better with babies than with teenagers.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
We both pondered that for a moment—the fact that our brutal, ruthless father might actually have been kind in another life, in another fatherhood role, and genuinely so. It seemed impossible, yet the woman’s letter had certainly hinted at a change.
Trey cleared his throat. “So this is the way I see it, Shell. If the original Jim Davis somehow managed to debastardize himself . . . you know . . . maybe, just maybe, those genes aren’t as potent as we thought, and maybe we’ll be okay. You know. In an I’m-not-going-to-turn-into-Hannibal-Lecter sorta way.”
“You think?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put a million bucks on it just yet, but I think it’s a pretty good theory. You should give it a whirl and see if it’s true.”
“No, Trey, you should give it a whirl.”
“Except that I’m married to my job.”
“You’re married to your bakery?”
“I’m married to my vocation as a wannabe French baker with a slightly Italian flair.”
“And I’m married to my conviction that it’s wiser and saner to play it safe rather than risk perpetuating the Davis family curse.”
“Time for a divorce, babe. Take the leap. Teach a lesson to the guy who nearly strangled me to death and show him how parenting is done.”
“That’s asking a lot.”
“You owe me a lot.”
I had a brief vision of Scott sitting on my couch with his heart in his eyes, asking if it would be okay for him to pursue me. And fear curled into my stomach like a leaden, malevolent stain. “I’ll think about it,” I conceded.
“You do that, Shell. And don’t take too long. You don’t want him to go the way of the Keiths and Daves and Vinnies that came before him.”
“He’s on a different planet than any of those guys.”
“A better one?”
“You have no idea.”
“All the more reason.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Enjoy the muddlehood.”
“Great help you are.”
Joy was dying. The room was hushed and reverent as Seth and Kate, teenage actors who appeared too young to know the full weight of such a moment, brought the scene to such a powerful conclusion that none of us—not even the set crew—were unmoved. There was a simplicity to the scene that allowed for nuances so profound and intimate that Seth could pour the entirety of his pain into the lines, enrobing them with soul-purpose and heart-meaning.
“Still here?” Kate whispered, her voice somehow carrying to the back of the auditorium where I sat, script in hand, mind in England.
“Still here.” Seth sat on the edge of her bed, his hands gentle on her arm, her face, her hair, his eyes so intent on her that it seemed he’d dimmed the world beyond her next breath.
“Go to bed. Get some sleep.”
“Soon.”
“Jack. Has it been worth it?”
“Three years of happiness?”
“Tell me you’ll be all right.”
“I’ll be all right.”
Kate shifted a little, slightly grimacing with pain. Seth helped her adjust on her pillow and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Are