Mallory's Melody

Chapter 28

"There, now you know," Cole said, looking up at the ceiling, his face flushed.

Mallory sat back and winced, incredulous of everything Cole had just told her. She recalled his every word, registered the points at which he stopped to take in a breath, savored each cumbersome and breath-taking detail he'd just narrated to her. But the actual battle was bringing herself to believe him, to believe that this Jane Anderson he spoke so affectionately about was really her mother. Mallory's eyes teared, her stomach churning turbulently. Her heart felt ripped. How could Cole have hidden this from her all these years, this story that had so much depth, profundity, one to which she was obligated to have known since the first day he adopted her? Why did he hide it from her all his years, why did he deprive her of the knowledge of her own mother, Jane, of all the years she could've lived with the knowledge of her own mother.

Self-absorption.

Yes, that was it. The reason why he couldn't have told her all these years. He was too much sunken in his own pride, too obsessed with preserving his own self-image. He didn't want her to know that he'd had a hand in her mother's death, that he'd watch her venture into a marriage he was fully aware was a peril, and did nothing about it. And now, when he'd finally let her privy at that, his stupid, even asinine justification was that he did so—let her fall to her own doom—for the sake of love. It was clear to the logical and well-functioning unadulterated mind, what Cole had done, he'd let an innocent woman fall into her own doom, he'd fallen short of his own duty of chasing her as the coward he was.

Cole Trent was a murderer, nothing less.

"You let her die," was all the response Mallory could give him. She swallowed hard, trying to push back the incoming flow of ire, of which contained profane vitriols she wanted to spray upon Cole. And yet, unbelievably there was a side of her that wanted to yield to him, that juvenile and illogical side of her that wanted so smoothen the creases of worry upon his head and tell him it was okay, that there was no cause for fear. But to hell with what he expected of her, to hell with the patronize he expected of her. There was no justification for what he did, no other course of interpretation as to the story he'd just told her. The story line was simply this—Cole murdered Jane. She didn't care to keep into account that she'd never really had a relationship with this Jane. What mattered was the emotional connection she'd felt with her, that bond of familiarity, as though she'd always known her, and that she was dead—killed by Cole for that matter—was like a double stab in her heart.

"Let her die?" Cole got up, his eyes filled with fury. "Didn't you hear anything I'd just told you—"

Mallory cut in. "Fine and clear dad!" She got on an eye-to-eye level with him. "And for once let's forget that you were wrong about never telling me about Jane. The crux of the matter is that you let her die."

"No, I respected her decision." Cole sat back, putting on the veneer of calm, as though that proved he was innocent.

"Bull! You killed her. You knew what she was getting into with Lewis, and yet you never helped her. You're a murderer, dad—Cole. and even worse than a criminal is one who doesn't know he is one."

Cole's facade of calmness slipped. "Why are you speaking like this? I'm not a criminal."

"Maybe not in this regard," Mallory said, "but you were wrong keeping this from me all these years."

Cole ran his fingers down his head and nibbled on his finger, as though registering the weight of her words. Convicted as he should be. "I was scared Mal. Was scared you would react in the way you are now, ready to disown me as a father and put me in the same category as a murderer. But I swear to you I'm not." His eyes teared up. "And you have to believe me."

Mallory laughed, that type of laugh that was a mix of incredulity and pain. She was mad at Cole. That was established. Enraged to the point that she looked for a route to speak with the virulent disease that seemed to be eating him up and quickly negotiate his death with it. But this also was her father, begging for her compromise. And though she felt moved to succumb to it, another side hurt for her loss of Jane, a side that could never in a million years come to terms with what Cole was asking of her.

"How else should I react—" she gulped—" when hit with the news that I've been living with the same man who murdered my mother. Do you even know how that makes me feel Dad—Cole, do you know—"her voice hung—"how painful it must be for me? And yet you call what you did to Jane love? That's the height of it. Define love dad! Your love!"

Cole remained dumfounded for a minute, but then arose with the words. "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs."

"No, not at the expense of another. And let me guess, you got that from one of your petty bible-verses didn't you?" Mallory snorted. "You can't just admit you were wrong, can you? I'll give you the facts if you don't know them. It's murder to leave Jane in the condition she was in, and whoever murders is by definition of a murderer."

"I am no murderer Mal, please stop this at once. I'm your father for crying out loud, Your father!"

"God knows I will never call you that ever again, and if I go back on my word, may he strike me dead. You're not my father. You're a coward for not fighting for the woman you loved. For my mother!"

"Mal..." tears fell from his eyes.

The door flung open, and by the doorway, stood the vermin of a blonde that had escorted Mallory into the room. She stared at Cole, then back at Mallory, visibly proclaiming her guilty for the tears that streaming down his face. "Ma'am I'm sorry to say, but you've prolonged your stay here. I might have to ask you have to leave."

Mallory stood up and nodded abruptly, careful not to meet with Cole's begging eyes. "My pleasure." She turned to Cole. "To hell with you. I hope Jane finds some way to rise from the dead and retribute what you did to her Cole, but until then, enjoy your slow and painful death."

She walked out the door, all the while denying she ever heard her father's voice call her back.

There was no going back now, but only forward.

And Cole had always been a hindrance to her progress anyway, a stumbling block, that thankfully, she'd now gotten rid of.