Guilt By Degrees

37

That philosophy fits well in Los Angeles. What I hadn’t known when I’d chosen to move here is that Los Angeles discourages intimacy. Unlike other cities, Los Angeles, with its vast sprawl, forces you to get into a car to go anywhere. That means you won’t be making any new friends on your daily route from here to there. In fact, it’s damn unlikely you’ll ever run into anyone you know without an appointment. Natives are a rarity-most are transplants from other parts of the country, if not the world. And though you’d think that kind of diversity might make personal histories a common point of interest, I’d found the opposite was true: people seldom asked questions about my past, and when they did, my minimalist answers were accepted without follow-up.

I’d happily crawled into that cocoon of anonymity. At first, I’d been consumed with guarding its walls. But after years without challenge, I’d come to believe there was no cause for fear. I’d found security in the knowledge that I’d never have to worry about a breach because no one cared. And so I was caught off guard. Hearing that Graden had dug into my past without ever asking my permission left me stunned. But within seconds the surprise gave way to fury.

“How dare you?” I asked, breathing hard.

“What…what do you mean?” Graden asked, his expression shocked and perplexed.

“What the hell were you doing snooping around in my life without asking me? I’m not some jerkoff perp you ‘run’ at will.”

My voice was low and steady, but I was shaking with rage. Graden’s eyes widened.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me about Romy?” he asked. “We’re supposed to be a couple-”

“And a couple shows respect for each other’s boundaries! They don’t go stomping around, digging up dirt just because they can!”

I roughly pushed my hair back from my face, getting angrier by the second.

“Digging up dirt?” he retorted. “Your sister’s abduction isn’t dirt! It’s a life-altering event. I care about you. Don’t you think I deserve to know about it?”

“Deserve!” I shouted. “I most certainly don’t! You deserve to know what I want you to know and not one thing more! It’s my life,” I said, pointing to myself, “and it’s my choice what to tell.” I stopped a moment to catch my breath, then added, “And since we’re on the subject, what exactly have you chosen to share with me about your childhood?”

Graden was silent, his face now stony with resentment. “I would’ve been glad to tell you anything you wanted to know. All you ever had to do was ask me,” he replied.

“But I didn’t ask. I gave you time and space to tell me whatever you wanted-whenever you wanted. And I sure as hell didn’t go scurrying around behind your back.”

“I wasn’t scurrying around, I just…” His voice trailed off, and he fell silent.

Graden took a deep breath and looked at the floor. I waited till he raised his eyes and held my gaze.

“I meant well, Rachel,” he said, his voice now calm, apologetic. “I can see it was a mistake, but I just wanted to know more about you. And I didn’t run your rap sheet.” He said it with a little smile that died when he saw I wasn’t softening. “All I did was google you.” He paused again. “But when I saw the story about Romy, I got upset. I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me about something like this. At the very least, you’d have to know I’d understand. I might even be able to help-”

“Understand? Why? Because you’ve handled millions of victims?” I was so angry my breath was coming in sharp, rasping gulps. The old childhood wounds had been torn open and were bleeding out.

Graden shook his head.

“And help?” I continued. “It’s been over twenty years! Do you think in all that time I’ve just been sitting on my hands, waiting for Sir Galahad to ride up and slay the dragon?”

Graden gave me a hard look. “I’m not a plumber, Rachel. I’ve got fifteen years on the force, I’ve worked thousands of cases, and I’ve got friends and connections all over the country. So while it might be optimistic to think I could come up with a new idea, it’s not inconceivable that I might be able to help.”

I returned his gaze, feeling ice-cold inside.

“But that’s not really what this is about, is it, Rachel?”

I looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“We were getting too close, weren’t we?” he asked, his voice heavy.

“Don’t use that fear-of-intimacy crap on me,” I said. “This is about the fact that you can’t respect my privacy. This is about your issue, Graden. Your need to know everything about everyone, regardless of how they might feel about it-”

Graden, who was almost as computer savvy as his propeller-head brother, had confided to me in one of those private, vulnerable moments of closeness that he had “researched” not only all his partners on the force but also his competitors for every single promotion, including the lieutenant’s position. And yet I never once suspected that he’d do the same to me.

My using this knowledge against him now was below the belt; in a more sane state, I wouldn’t have done it. Graden’s eyes widened.

“Haven’t you ever thought about the fact that your need to know everything about everyone is a serious control issue?” I asked. “And stupid me for ever thinking I might be exempt,” I said bitterly. “Clearly, I’m not. So maybe you need to consider the possibility that it’s not my problem with ‘intimacy.’” I paused to do air quotes, to give my words an extra sting. “It’s about your need for control.”

I hadn’t even known I was thinking those things until I said them. But in that moment, as heated and over the top as it was, I knew I’d hit a core truth about Graden. And about us.

At my last words, he physically drew back away from me and fell silent.

“I’d be willing to consider that, Rachel,” he said seriously, then looked me straight in the eye. “But I’d ask only that you return the favor: consider the possibility that you’ve got survivor’s guilt over Romy. And that means you can’t really let anyone into your life.”

The mention of Romy’s name shot a red flare off in my brain, ending the possible reentry of rational thought.

“Now you think you’re going to psychoanal-”

“Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can’t take it!”

He wasn’t wrong, but I’d had enough.

“You’d better go,” I said. I heard a quaver in my voice at the end that I didn’t like. I refused to break down in front of him. I pressed my lips hard against my teeth and held my body rigid.

Graden glared at me. “Finally, we agree about something.”

He walked to the door, then stopped, his hand on the knob. He blew out his breath and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” he said as he stood looking at the floor. “I thought we were going to be great together,” he added quietly, then left.

I was still shaking and cold with fury, and yet it was the leaden feeling in the pit of my stomach that scared me the most. A tiny voice from deep inside me asked, What have you done? I let the anger envelop and squash it. I opened the mini-fridge, poured myself a tall Russian Standard Platinum neat, and took it into the bathroom, where I drew myself a steaming-hot bath. I drank until I was warm and the water was cold. Then I got into bed. And cried myself to sleep.