The Amazing Otis Vale

Chapter 2

Gerald turned around now. He looked at Otis with something that was not quite amusement and not quite contempt, but sat somewhere right between the two. “Did we?” he said. “I don't recall.”

“You recall,” Otis said quietly.

“Watch your tone,” Felix said from the corner, standing up straighter now.

Otis did not look at him. He kept his eyes on Gerald, then moved them to Diane, then back to Gerald. “Please,” he said, and the word cost him something. He could feel it leaving him, like something physical being pulled out. 

“She is my mother. She is the only person I have. I am not leaving here without that money.”

Diane tilted her head to one side and smiled slowly. It was not a kind smile. 

“You know,” she said softly, “I used to wonder what Cara ever saw in you. Even for a second. Even as a reason to keep you around.” She paused. 

“Then I remembered. Nothing. She never saw anything in you. Nobody does.”

“Kill yourself,” Felix said casually, dropping back into his chair. “Honestly. Go home, lock the door, and save us all the trouble.”

“You're worthless, boy,” Gerald said. “You have always been worthless. You came into this family with nothing, you have added nothing, and you will leave with nothing. That is the beginning and the end of your story.”

The words landed.

Otis stood there in his wet clothes, the water still dripping from his sleeves, and he let the words land. He did not flinch. He did not look away. He just stood there and breathed, slow and quiet, the way a man breathes when he is holding something very large and very heavy inside his chest and he cannot put it down yet.

Then something caught his eye.

Past the open archway that led to the second sitting room, past the two guards standing near the wall, past the tall vase of white flowers on the side table.

Cara.

His wife.

She was seated on the smaller sofa in the inner room, her legs tucked beneath her, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a dress that Otis had never seen before. And beside her, leaning close, one arm draped across the back of the sofa behind her shoulders, was a man.

A man Otis did not know.

But the way Cara was looking at him, tilting her face up toward his, laughing softly at something he was saying, her fingers resting lightly on the back of his hand.

Otis knew what he was seeing.

He moved before he even decided to move, stepping through the archway, past the guards, into the inner room. The sound of his wet shoes on the marble floor made Cara look up first, and for just a second, something moved across her face. He was not sure what it was. It was gone too fast.

The man beside her looked over at Otis slowly, the way a person looks at an interruption they were expecting and are not impressed by.

Otis stopped a few feet away. His chest was moving. He could feel his own heartbeat.

“Cara,” he said.

She looked at him. Fully looked at him.

 “You're wet,” she said.

“Who is this?” His voice came out quieter than he intended.

The man smiled. It was a relaxed, comfortable smile, the smile of someone who had never once in his life felt like he did not belong somewhere. He did not answer. He just looked at Otis like the question itself was funny.

Then Cara uncurled her legs slowly and sat up straighter, smoothing her dress over her knees. 

“His name is Marcus,” she said simply. 

“And before you say anything, no, I don't want to hear it.”

“You don't want to hear it.” Otis repeated the words back slowly. Something was moving inside him, something hot and old and tired all at once. 

“Cara, I came here because my mother is dying. I came here because the hospital called me tonight and told me she won't make it through surgery without—”

“Just shut up, I know why you came,” she said. Her voice was not cruel exactly. It was something worse than cruel. It was empty. Like she had already finished this conversation in her head a long time ago. 

“You always come here for something. You always need something. That's all you've ever been, Otis. Someone who needs things.”

Marcus shifted beside her, leaning back, watching Otis with that same relaxed expression.

“After everything,” Otis said, and his voice dropped lower now, the words coming from somewhere deeper. 

“After everything I did. Cara, I gave you my bone marrow. Twice.” He let that sit in the air for a moment. “Twice. The second time, the doctors told me there was a chance I might not wake up. They told me to my face. And I still did it. Because I—”

“Because you loved me,” Cara said, and she said it the way someone says a line they have heard too many times. Flat. Practiced. 

“Yes. I know.”

“So how—” His voice cracked slightly, just slightly, and he pressed his lips together for a second before he kept going. 

“How are you sitting here like this? How are you doing this right now, in front of me, after everything—”

“Do you want to know something?” Cara cut in. She turned to face him more fully now, and there was something in her eyes that was almost like she had been waiting to say this. 

“Do you want to know the honest truth? I never wanted you near me. Not once. Not ever.” She said it slowly, clearly, like she was making sure every single word reached him. “Do you know how many times I had to stop myself from cringing every time you came close? You think I didn't see the way people looked at me when they found out who I married? You think I didn't hear what my friends said?”

She shook her head once. 

“The only thing, the only thing you were ever good for, was that.” She glanced briefly at his chest, where his shirt was still clinging to his skin. 

“Your bone marrow. That's it. That's the only part of you that was ever worth anything to me. And now that part is done. So we're done.”