Grab - Crouch Blake (читаемые книги читать .txt) 📗

"Before I came here, I sold my house. Cashed out my portfolio. Emptied my bank accounts. Two hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars."

"Why?"

They reached his floor.

The doors parted.

In the hallway, he said, "Because I'd already lost everything else."

She grabbed his arm. "Christian, look at me. What are you talking about? What's wrong?"

"My wife. My daughter."

"They left you?"

"They were killed."

"When?"

"Three months ago."

"Three months ago? You mean while I was seeing you, you were dealing with this shit? You never even—"

"Not your problem, Letty. Not on my couch. Not here."

"Was it a car wreck?"

"Yeah."

They went on.

"I don't even care about the money," he said, then veered into a wall. He leaned against it. "It was a sign I was looking for."

"What kind of sign?"

"You ever feel like it's all stacked against you, Letty? Like you never had a chance against the house? I just thought that maybe if I bet on black and it hit on black it would mean that things would change. That a corner had been turned. That I didn't have to do what I now have to do."

He grabbed her hands and turned them over.

Exposed her wrists.

Traced a finger down her scars.

Suicide hickeys.

"Must've taken great courage."

"No, not courage. Cowardice. What are you saying?"

"What was your low point, Letty? I can't remember if we ever spoke of it in our sessions."

"Let's get you to your room."

Christian sunk down onto the floor.

"Tell me. Please."

"When the court took my son from me. Terminated my parental rights. Night of the ruling..." She held up her wrists. "Three bottles of Merlot and a straight razor."

"My life is over," he said.

"But it's still yours."

"I don't want it."

She eased down beside him.

"It's like you're in this tunnel," she said. "It's dark, there's no light at the end, and you think it goes on forever." Christian looked up at her, tears reforming. "But if you keep putting one foot in front of the other—"

"Even when it's total agony?"

"Especially then. Then one day, you see a speck of light in the distance. And it slowly gets larger. And for the first time, you feel the sensation of moving toward something. Away from all the hurt and the pain and the crushing weight of the past."

"What's it like when you finally emerge?"

"Tell you when I get there."

"You're still in your tunnel?"

"Yeah."

"What keeps you going?"

She could feel herself becoming emotional. Tried to fight it down, but her throat ached with grief.

"I know that when I finally come out into the light that my son will be waiting for me. I want to live to see that version of me."

Christian said, "I have two hundred in cash in my wallet. My room is paid for through tonight. I don't know what happens after that. I don't know where to go. My practice is finished. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but I'm not sure what I'm living for. Why I would continue to breathe in and out."

"For you."

"For me?"

"For the you that one day walks out of that tunnel." Letty stood. "Come on. Let's get you into bed."

"I can't go back to that room and sit there alone in the dark."

Go to meetings. Help others.

"Tell you what," Letty said. "I missed breakfast. Let me take you to lunch. My treat."

"You don't have to do this."

"Actually, I do."

13

Letty changed out of her swimwear and met Christian downstairs.

They walked north toward the tower at the end of the Strip.

It must have been a hundred and ten degrees.

Waves of heat glowering off the sidewalks.

The tourists waddling around sweating like disgraced prizefighters.

They took the elevator to the top.

Letty slid the hostess fifty dollars to put them at a window table. Insisted that Christian take the best seat.

Waiting for their waitress to show, he looked like he might nod off right there at the table.

"When's the last time you slept?" Letty asked.

"I don't know. I think I've forgotten how."

"Let me get you some help," she said. "Someone to talk to."

"Psychobabble doesn't work on me. I know all the tricks."

He stared out the window by their table, but she could tell that he didn't see a thing. The restaurant turned imperceptibly. At the moment, their view was west. Miles of glittering sprawl and development. Beyond the city, the desert climbed into a range of spruce-covered mountains.

Letty checked her phone—no missed calls or texts.

"I'm not keeping you, am I?" Christian asked.

"Not at all."

The waitress came.

Letty ordered Christian a coffee.

He reached into his wallet, pulled out two small photos, laid them on the table.

"This is Angie, my wife. My daughter, Charlie."

Letty lifted the photo of a thirteen or fourteen year old girl. Kneeling in a blue and white uniform in front of a goal, holding a soccer ball.

"She's beautiful. And Charlie is short for..."

"Charlene."

"That's lovely." Letty reached into her purse, took out a photo of her son—his kindergarten photo.

"Jacob?" Christian asked.

"Yeah, I don't think I ever showed you his picture."

Christian leaned over the table to get a better look.

"Good-looking kid."

Christian collected his photographs and returned them to his wallet with the care and focus of a ritual.

Letty said, "Don't you have family or friends back in Charleston who can help you?"

"They certainly think so."

"But you don't."

"When my girls died, all I got was a bunch of platitudes. Cards that said things like, 'She is just away.' People lining up to tell me they knew what I was going through. I'm never going back."

"Then what will you do?"

"Kill myself. That was the deal I made. I shouldn't be telling you this. I'm a terrible therapist."

"What deal?"

"If I doubled my money, I'd see it as a good omen. I'd try to push on. If I lost, that was it. I was done."

"And there's nothing at this point that might change your mind?"

"Let's be clear. You really don't know me. Don't really know anything about me. You don't love me. You're trying to help me and in the sense that I'm not alone in this moment, you are. And it means more to me than I could ever tell you. But don't try to convince me that my life has value. How there's an end to this pain. There isn't. And I know it."

"You told me my life had value."

"You shouldn't see me like this," he said. "I don't want it to undo all the progress we made, just because I'm weak."

"You're in this bad spot now. You will feel different one day."

"My girls were my life, and it was over the moment that truck came over into their lane. I'm just trying to pin down my exit strategy."

"How did I miss this?" she asked. "Every week for months, I came to see you. And you were hurting—badly hurting—and I completely missed it. Am I that self-obsessed?"

"No." He smiled. "Let's just say I was that dedicated."