“That makes the two of us. I’m also here because I wanted to understand what’s going on.” I pick up one photo and hold it up between us. “Let’s start with you telling me what this is. Why do you have photos of these girls?”
He’s trying to remain calm, but something has shifted. I know him well enough to notice the crease between his eyebrows that usually appears whenever he’s confused or angry.
He doesn’t respond immediately. He’s cooking up an explanation to feed his stupid wife.
“Don’t you dare lie to me. What are you doing with these girls’ photos?” My voice is hard. “I know they belong to you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t ask these questions, Viola.”
“Why not? Don’t you think I deserve answers?”
He shakes his head. “The answers don’t matter. What matters is that I love you. Those girls meant nothing to me.”
His words go round and round in my mind, driving me insane.
I take a moment to pull myself together. I want him to know that I’m not afraid of him, but I can’t stop my hands from shaking.
“Did you… did you hurt those girls?”
“I didn’t mean to.” His gaze shifts from mine for a second before returning.
This time he looks different. The confident man who had walked in on me doesn’t seem to be there anymore. His hands are no longer in his pockets. He’s wringing them in front of him, like a little boy in trouble.
“Brittney… I mean, Viola, you have to believe me. I never meant to do it.”
My breath solidifies inside my throat. “How many?”
The thought that my husband was leading a dark life behind my back makes me feel dizzy. When I look at him now, all I can see are the faces of the girls in the photos.
“Don’t ask me that.” Tears have started to roll down his cheeks.
“I need to know.” I inhale sharply. “How many, Alex?”
He’s crying like a baby now, his arms around his body as if he’s trying to protect himself.
“Please, let’s forget about the past,” he sobs. “Let’s start over. Remember what we talked about in Nashville? We can build a beautiful life. We can adopt a baby. We’ll make such great parents.”
“Why?” I shake my head. “Why do you want to spend your life with me? You don’t even love me.”
“You’re wrong,” he says quickly, his voice shaking. “I didn’t love any of those girls. They laughed at me and called me names. They made me feel like I was nothing.”
The missing pieces are starting to slide into place. The classroom, the mannequins, the writing on the chalkboard. They all serve a purpose. But there’s still a lot I don’t understand.
“Not all the girls did that to you,” I say, holding up the pictures of Brittney and the girl whose name I don’t know. “These girls weren’t the girls that you went to school with.”
He stands with his hands in his hair, his eyes wide. He knows I’ve read between the lines, that he has been caught.
I take several deep breaths and continue. “You’re still hurt after all these years and you’re punishing beautiful schoolgirls. Am I right?”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to.” He clears his throat. “I love you, Viola. You know I do. Those girls disgusted me.”
His face contorts with anger and he scratches his palms like he’s suffering from some kind of skin disease. His eyes have taken on a faraway look, and he continues to speak, but no longer to me.
“Pudding, bacon, porky, blob.” He shakes his head. “No, no, no, my name is Alex. My name is Alex.”
With the same distant look in his eyes, he reaches for a mannequin lying on the floor next to his bed.
I watch in horror as he grabs the mannequin’s legs, raises it, and slams its head against the side table, sending the contents on the tabletop crashing to the floor.
