He leaves, and I crumble to the floor and bury my face in my hands as a sob quakes through my whole body. I love him too, and that’s the problem. How can I now?
27
Chloe
Denny staresat me with pure, unbridled bewilderment. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I swear, Chloe.”
I raise both trembling hands and cover my puffy, blotchy face. Denny’s dark eyebrows are pulled together, and his wide mouth is set in a firm, flat line. I called him, barely able to speak I was so distraught, and told him I needed him to come over immediately. He’d just finished a night shift and was at the station about to get changed before heading home. He showed up and hour later still in his police uniform.
“There was no monetary settlement for Jackson’s death,” Denny says, voice calm and confident. “The kid’s insurance was voided because he was drunk. I guess we could have sued his family, his estate or whatever, but the kid was an out-of-work pizza delivery boy. He was living in a studio apartment and two months behind on rent according to his family, who looked like they subsisted on food stamps. So I mean, where would this settlement have come from? I don’t know who put this idea in your head, but no one is keeping money from you.”
“The other person who was in the car that day,” I say flatly.
His expression doesn’t move, not a flicker of guilt or a knowing glint in his eye. “I would know if there was someone else in that car, and they’d be dead too, I’m sure.”
“They aren’t dead. They’re alive and living in this fucking house,” I reply.
“Chloe…I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Denny says quietly. “You are freaking me out. I feel like you’re having a breakdown or something.”
I drop to the couch and point to the chair beside it. “Sit. You’re going to need to sit.”
I tell him everything Logan told me. As I talk, sharing all the vicious twist-of-fate details, Denny’s expression slowly transforms from confusion to disbelief. “This can’t be true.”
“I wish it wasn’t,” I say.
“He rented your apartment?” Denny repeats, not asking for my confirmation but just repeating it in order to absorb the news. His eyes find mine. “But he didn’t know about you and this horrible connection either?”
“He didn’t,” I reply. “It’s insane, I know.”
Denny runs his hands into his hair and kind of holds the sides of his head as he exhales loudly. It’s such a Jackson mannerism, it almost takes my breath away. “And his family gave two hundred grand to…Paul?”
“Logan says they gave it to Jackson’s family to help with medical and funeral costs,” I confirm. “Since it wasn’t you, then it must be Paul. Your parents were in Oregon when it happened, and you were in New Hampshire. This family member signed a non-disclosure agreement to keep Logan’s name out everything so the family business wouldn’t suffer.”
“I know Paul is…I mean he’s a jerk but if this is true…” Denny looks truly heart broken. “Then he’s a monster.”
I feel bad for Denny. He lost Jackson, and now his relationship with Paul will be irrevocably broken. He stands up, adjusting his belt, which is still heavy with all his police equipment minus his gun, which he must have left locked up at the station. “Let’s go pay Paul a visit.”
I know Paul lives in Maine, but I honestly don’t know where. I’m surprised Denny does because they haven’t been face-to-face since Jackson’s funeral. That I know of. It turns out he lives in a very affluent beach community called Ogunquit. Way more upper class than Ocean Pines. He’s in a newly built low-rise condo building three blocks from the beach. Denny buzzes him from the intercom downstairs. He tells him that they need to talk about me. He sounds shocked but unlocks the door. Denny leads me into the elevator and up to the top floor. When Paul swings open his front door, I see straight through his small but immaculate apartment to the balcony with ocean views.
I had to negotiate a payment plan of a thousand and fourteen dollars a month for nine years to pay off my medical bills, and he has ocean views. Paul’s face darkens like an impending thunderstorm when he sees me next to his only living brother. “What the hell is she doing here, Denny?” he asks and then turns to me with and a compassionless stare. “Are you finally here to sell me the house?”
“I’m here to talk about the two hundred grand the Hawkins family paid for medical and funeral expenses,” I reply, and the superiority and confidence is sucked from his face so quickly that it’s almost comical.
“It’s fucking true,” Denny hisses because he too sees the admission of guilt on Paul’s now trite features. “Jesus Christ, Paul, you’re a disgusting human being.”
“I don’t know what she’s told you, but you should hear me out,” Paul says.
“Did you take money and not give any of it to Chloe?” Denny asks. “Did you make that decision for the family?”
“Yes. And I would do it again,” Paul says, his face hard. He would look a lot like Jackson with his shock of dark hair and light green eyes, but his cruel personality has permanently twisted his features into harsher, uglier angles than Jackson ever had. “That money paid for Mom and Dad’s down payment on their retirement condo in Florida. It paid for Jackson’s funeral.”
He told us he paid for it. Looking back, I should have questioned that because Paul was barely working. That silly fake college he was working at had already tanked, and he’d gone into business for himself, opened his own accounting practice but hardly had any clients according to Jackson.
“Do your parents know?” I ask.
Paul shakes his head. “No. I told them I was paying their down payment but I didn’t tell them how. They lost their son and I wanted to ease their pain.”
“I lost my husband and a year of my life to rehab,” I scream.
