Page 63 of Identity Unknown
“That doesn’t make it okay. There’s nothing more powerful than jealousy. One of the greatest motivators when it comes to people doing horrible things.” Benton’s not smiling now.
“It sounds like he and Dorothy didn’t have the best of weekends. Or at least he didn’t,” I’m explaining. “When his insecurity button is pushed, he gets out of sorts.”
“Out of sorts? That’s an understatement. You do realize how much time you spend defending him, and always have?” Benton stares across the room at the muted TV.
“I’m not defending him,” I reply, and Marino isn’t the problem. “I’m also not the psychologist in the room.” I can see the hurt in Benton’s eyes. “But common sense tells me that knowing something and hearing it in front of an audience are two different things. I’m sorry you were subjected to all that earlier.”
“At least it was Gus Gutenberg. He’s gentler than most.”
“Yes, he can tell you that you’re about to be charged with treason without changing the expression on his face or tone of his voice. What happened inside the SLAB was unfortunate for you and me both, Benton. Doesn’t matter if I understand the reason.”
“I hated to watch you interrogated like that.” He takes a big swallow of tequila. “I felt like telling Gus to shut the fuck up, if you want me to be honest.”
“Often we don’t realize what something is going to feel like until it happens.” I’m careful drinking on an empty stomach.
“And then there’s the comments one has to hear offstage. People asking how I’m supposed to compete with a Nobel laureate.” Ice rattles in his glass as he drains it. “And allusions to you being a home wrecker.”
“Technically, I was.”
“It takes two. I won’t win any morality prizes.”
“Neither of us would.” I take another swallow of tequila.
“Do you regret it?” Benton’s eyes are intense on mine, and he isn’t asking about our affair.
He’s asking about everything else.
“What I regret is we didn’t marry each other the first time around,” I reply. “Maybe it was necessary for us to learn from mistakes. But in the process many years were lost. And we can’t get them back. Not this time around.”
CHAPTER 23
Benton’s ex-wife, Connie, wasn’t as interested in him as in the Wesley family money. He didn’t share his work with her, nor did she want to hear about it. And my first husband was forgettable, my brief marriage to Tony by prescription. I thought it the sensible thing to do after graduate school, for reasons I don’t entirely understand. I suspect that it had much to do with my mother and Dorothy, both worried I’d never find anyone.
“There’s nothing I regret about you.” I tell Benton the truth. “There’s no one I want to be with more.”
“No one? Not even Sal?”
“Not even close.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You shouldn’t need to hear it. But regardless of what we think we know, we can get surprised.” I take another swallow of my drink as it melts away inhibitions that hold me tightly wrapped. “And I was surprised to realize you told your colleagues about my history with Sal before discussing it with me first.”
“I should have said something to you earlier.” Benton uncorks the bottle again.
“Yes, you should have.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“The professional thing was to inform those involved that you and Sal were close. In fact, you were lovers once.”
“In another life.”
“It could cause trouble if not handled appropriately. It doesn’t matter how long ago.” He splashes more tequila into his glass, and it’s not like him to drink this much. “Mainly, I was thinking of what the media will do when it’s discovered that you did the autopsy. I wanted us getting on top of it with full disclosure.”
“That’s what you told yourself, but it’s not the real reason,” I reply. “My early relationship with Sal bothers you, and you didn’t want your colleagues thinking that it did. So, you volunteered my business for me. As if to imply my past was no big deal to you. That you were comfortable discussing it. And that the information was yours to offer when it wasn’t.”