The Lover's Children novel Chapter 79

KLEMPNER

The door slams in my face.

Ah… Shit…

Now what?

For long seconds, I stand on Mitch’s doorstep, part of me expecting it to open. Part of me knowing it won’t.

A loud Click! The turning of a key.

Metal slams, bolts drawing top and bottom. Seconds later, the window blinks dark.

There’s a thumping noise, and it takes me long seconds to realise it’s my own heartbeat, pounding away under my ribs.

Fucked that up, didn’t I…

It’s the first time Mitch has been truly angry with me since… since we re-joined our lives.

But was it only anger in her face?

No…

I saw fear there too.

Fear for me?

Tugging my jacket tighter around myself, I realise I’m shivering. But the cold’s not from the air. The evening’s cool, but not cold. The chill comes from inside. My gut tightens. Belatedly, I realise I’m rubbing at my temples.

Like a fool, I remain on the doorstep, waiting for Mitch to open up, to smile at me, to tell me it was all a mistake. But the door remains stubbornly closed, and beyond, there’s only silence.

A breeze springs up, and my neck and spine prickle.

Perhaps I should knock next door.

But common sense reasserts. If Haswell’s driver brought Mitch and the children back, then everyone in the household knows what I did.

I… can’t face them.

The great Larry Klempner…

Scared of getting his wrists slapped…

Miserably, I trudge around the side of the hotel.

Sleep in the car?

?

Never room to stretch out properly…

A couple of benches by the parking lot, out of obvious view, look like the best option for the night. Tugging my jacket around myself, I stretch out on the nearest.

The benches are slatted. Perfectly functional for casual seating. But ungodly uncomfortable for sleeping on. I roll one way, and a slat jabs at my hip. I shift and another slat digs into my shoulder. In the end, I settle for lying on my back, not something I ever found comfortable, but at least lying flat, nothing’s grabbing at me.

*****

“You know, if you stay like that all night, you'll not be able to move tomorrow.”

I open gluey eyes to Michael's silhouette. Cast against the hotel lighting his shaggy head of hair runs wild in the breeze.

“Klempner, what are you doing out here? Slatted benches aren't designed for sleeping on.” A tremble to his words suggests suppressed laughter.

I roll to sit up, suppressing a groan as muscles, stiff with chill, line up in protest. “No, they’re not. But I’ve slept in worse places. And Mitch’s apartment wasn't an option. She made that clear.”

“Yes, I had a feeling you’d need to wear your hard hat when Ross brought her back earlier. But unless you want to play the martyr, we have guest beds galore in the house. Or there's a couple of rooms free in the hotel if you prefer to keep your head low.”

“I'll admit, It's a tempting offer…” I sit upright, shading my eyes against the glare of the hotel lights.

Michael sits beside me. “Larry, come to the house. You can tell us what happened. I'm guessing you had good reason to overlook your wife, three kids and a dog.” The humour fades from his voice. Nonetheless, there’s a sardonic edge to his choice of phrase.

“How was she? When she got back.”

He scratches his scalp, grimacing. “Incandescent, I think, covers it. But underneath, I'd say you scared her. Mitch doesn't cope well with you behaving unpredictably.”

“Yes, I'm beginning to realise that.”

“I might mention that Charlotte's pretty unimpressed too. And Beth. You abandoned Cara and Adam. I’m guessing they’ll both have something to say.”

Oh, God...

“Is there anyone in there not completely pissed off with me?”

He pauses. “You might start with an apology to James and Richard. I realise you left Cara and Adam in the care of a responsible adult, but Mitch was... explosive... in her opinions on your vanishing trick.”

Crap…

“Listen, thanks for the offer. But I think I'd rather sleep in the hotel if that's...”

Michael cuts me short. “Charlotte and Beth are already in bed. You may have noticed that the women of our…” He raises fingers, making air commas… “… family run a kind of sorority support system. If you want to benefit from the fraternal version, you'd better fill me, James and Richard in with what happened.”

*****

The fire’s well made up and the warm scent of brandy hangs in the air.

They’re waiting for me, James and Haswell, watching in silence as Michael ushers me into the lounge. Each cradles a glass. The decanter, on a side table between them, contains only an inch or so.

What’s expected of me?

“Before we go any further, I owe you all an apology.”

“Damn right,” mutters Haswell.