“You can’t despise your father just because he wouldn’t tell you how you came to be adopted. There’s got to be another reason. He may have had good motives for it. Rightly or wrongly, he may have felt he needed to protect you somehow. I mean, what if your real mother was a whore and your real father a drunken sailor on a weekend pass? He might reasonably want to keep that from you.”
“You’re right,” she said. “The truth is, the great, beloved Dr. Carter Cole was not the man everyone thought he was,” she said. “Not in private, not in secret. Not when he was alone with Mother and me. And alone with me…” She trailed off. “Well, let’s just say he was different . A different man. He was not a nice man, Jordan.”
“No one’s the same when he’s alone with his wife or his children. It’s where you let your guard down, especially if, like your father, you’re more or less a public figure.”
She moved closer to him on the sofa. “You’re a public figure, Jordan, and I know you’re different when you’re with your family alone. In private. I can tell from a single visit to your home that Jordan Groves in private is a nice man.” She laughed lightly. “Actually, it’s in public, with the whole world watching, that you’re not a nice man. A brawler. You’ve punched critics in the jaw and given reviewers black eyes. You’re an opinionated, drunken Red. And a famous womanizer. Oh, you have such a dangerous reputation, Jordan Groves! While you’re up here in the mountainsholed up in your studio and your sweet wife bakes bread and your sons study the local flora, people in New York City are talking. Or when you’re off on one of your famous adventures in the Arctic or wherever it is you go alone for months at a time to paint and where it’s clear from your pictures and writings that you sleep with the native women and probably participate in horrid native rituals, all the while, back here and in the cafés of Manhattan, tongues are wagging. No,” she said, suddenly serious, “you’re the opposite of my father.” She reached out and brushed his cheek with her fingertips. “You didn’t shave this morning, did you?”
He swiped at her hand and shoved it away and scowled. “Yes, I shaved.”
“Why are you so violent with me?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
“What makes you think you know me?”
“You’re answering a question with a question, Jordan,” she said softly and touched his cheek a second time.
“Once I would have eaten you whole,” he said and took her hand gently away from his face. “Right down to your beautiful white fingertips,” he said, and he put her fingers into his mouth and held them there and touched them with his tongue.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. After a moment, he withdrew her hand and placed it on her lap. “But not now,” he said. “Not anymore.” He put his glass on the table beside him and stood. “I know what people say about me. I know my reputation, and mostly I don’t give a good goddamn. Listen, Vanessa, somebody once asked me in one of those dumb magazine interviews what I wanted out of life, and I told him the truth, I said, ‘I want all of it.’ And until recently that’s pretty much how I’ve lived my life.”
“‘Until recently.’”
“Yes. But now…now I’m starting to realize that I can’t have all of it.” He paused and looked above her and out the window at the lake and the mountains and the sky. “Some of the things we want cancel out other things we want. I’m not going into details,” he said, “but I want my wife and my boys to be happy. I want them to be proud of me. And I want that more than I want certain other things,” he said and turned back to her. “Even you.”
“And you believe that? If you can have me, you can’t have them? And vice versa, that if you can’t have me, then you can have them? Are you sure?” she said. “Because I’m not.”
“Look, you’re not
“You’re right,” she said. “The truth is, the great, beloved Dr. Carter Cole was not the man everyone thought he was,” she said. “Not in private, not in secret. Not when he was alone with Mother and me. And alone with me…” She trailed off. “Well, let’s just say he was different . A different man. He was not a nice man, Jordan.”
“No one’s the same when he’s alone with his wife or his children. It’s where you let your guard down, especially if, like your father, you’re more or less a public figure.”
She moved closer to him on the sofa. “You’re a public figure, Jordan, and I know you’re different when you’re with your family alone. In private. I can tell from a single visit to your home that Jordan Groves in private is a nice man.” She laughed lightly. “Actually, it’s in public, with the whole world watching, that you’re not a nice man. A brawler. You’ve punched critics in the jaw and given reviewers black eyes. You’re an opinionated, drunken Red. And a famous womanizer. Oh, you have such a dangerous reputation, Jordan Groves! While you’re up here in the mountainsholed up in your studio and your sweet wife bakes bread and your sons study the local flora, people in New York City are talking. Or when you’re off on one of your famous adventures in the Arctic or wherever it is you go alone for months at a time to paint and where it’s clear from your pictures and writings that you sleep with the native women and probably participate in horrid native rituals, all the while, back here and in the cafés of Manhattan, tongues are wagging. No,” she said, suddenly serious, “you’re the opposite of my father.” She reached out and brushed his cheek with her fingertips. “You didn’t shave this morning, did you?”
He swiped at her hand and shoved it away and scowled. “Yes, I shaved.”
“Why are you so violent with me?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
“What makes you think you know me?”
“You’re answering a question with a question, Jordan,” she said softly and touched his cheek a second time.
“Once I would have eaten you whole,” he said and took her hand gently away from his face. “Right down to your beautiful white fingertips,” he said, and he put her fingers into his mouth and held them there and touched them with his tongue.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. After a moment, he withdrew her hand and placed it on her lap. “But not now,” he said. “Not anymore.” He put his glass on the table beside him and stood. “I know what people say about me. I know my reputation, and mostly I don’t give a good goddamn. Listen, Vanessa, somebody once asked me in one of those dumb magazine interviews what I wanted out of life, and I told him the truth, I said, ‘I want all of it.’ And until recently that’s pretty much how I’ve lived my life.”
“‘Until recently.’”
“Yes. But now…now I’m starting to realize that I can’t have all of it.” He paused and looked above her and out the window at the lake and the mountains and the sky. “Some of the things we want cancel out other things we want. I’m not going into details,” he said, “but I want my wife and my boys to be happy. I want them to be proud of me. And I want that more than I want certain other things,” he said and turned back to her. “Even you.”
“And you believe that? If you can have me, you can’t have them? And vice versa, that if you can’t have me, then you can have them? Are you sure?” she said. “Because I’m not.”
“Look, you’re not
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