“I'm sorry, Sandy. I wasn't in my right mind. I won't ever do that again,” she replied, staring back at him. He looked angry. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look angry.
“And Jameson ..., I was so upset with him. Angry. I was angry at him,” Sanders stressed. Tate nodded.
“I know. Me, too.”
“But I have forgiven him. Why can't you?” he demanded.
“See, this is that uninhibited thing I was talking about,” she pointed out. He waved his hand in the air.
“I was counting on this,” he replied. “Why can't you forgive him?”
“I'm trying, Sandy. I really am. You know, don't you, that I wanted to hurt him, too, like I wanted to hurt Ang,” Tate said softly. He nodded.
“I had figured that much out. I just couldn't quite understand why. You said you forgave him, for Petrushka, for his cruelty,” he explained, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. She had never seen him in such a relaxed posture.
“I know. I lied. I didn't believe him. I don't know if I believe him, now. I just can't stop feeling this way. Like, why was Pet in Spain? Did he tell her he was there? Did he tell her what night club we would be at? When we were going to the apartment? And Ellie and Ang. I refuse to believe he didn't know about that – how could he not!? I mean, he booked them onto a plane he paid for! He keeps things from me, he messes with my head, and I -,” she started to ramble, and could feel her blood pressure rise as the memories flooded into her brain. Sanders held up a hand.
“No. He doesn't. I do,” he said quickly. She blinked at him.
“Huh?” she almost grunted, stunned.
“I knew Petrushka was in Spain, I saw it on the internet. The other things were merely a coincidence – Jameson frequents the restaurant that he took you to, he is friends with the owner. I'm sure she knew he would turn up there sooner or later. I never told him she was in the country,” Sanders explained, rolling his glass between his hands, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Why wouldn't you tell him that?” she breathed. She felt like she had been tasered. She had been so angry, the whole time, at the wrong person. And the right person ..., she didn't think she could be angry at him.
Not him. Not fair.
“Because it would have upset him and I do not like to do that. It would have upset you, and I do not like to do that, either. I knew she was a problem between the two of you that needed to be dealt with it, so I left it to happen. Which it did. Rather nicely. I am not prone to violence, but I can honestly say, there was something enjoyable about watching you hit her,” he said, and she thought she could detect a hint of a slur in his voice. She gave a half hearted laugh.
“Glad I could entertain you,” she whispered.
“I found out about Mrs. Carmichael coming with Mr. Hollingsworth the day before they were to arrive, the airline sent me an updated itinerary and bill. Her name was on it, of course. That one confused me for a time. I knew if I told Jameson, he would tell you. That wouldn't have been right, it was Mr. Hollingsworth's confession to make. Obviously he was bringing Mrs. Carmichael along with him in order to do so. I did not agree with his actions or his decisions, but I was not in a place to advise him that he shouldn't do those things. So it had to happen,” he explained, and then hiccuped into his fist.
“You weren't 'in a place' to advise him,” Tate almost laughed again.
“So I have been having my own battle with my conscience. Watching you be angry at people for deeds that were my own fault. Realizing that almost everything that has upset you, I could have prevented in some way,” he said calmly, but he couldn't stop spinning his glass, his fingers deftly moving around the crystal. She shook her head.
“No, Sandy, you didn't make Jameson bring Pet home, you didn't -,” she started to defend him – from himself – but he stopped her again.
“But I knew. And I never said anything. I am beginning to think I'm not a very good person,” he told her.
Tate let out a moan, closing her eyes. She wanted to be mad. She had been mad at Jameson, when she thought it had all been him, so it was only fair. But she couldn't. Jameson did things on purpose and with intent, just to make them hurt. Ang did things without forethought and out of stupidity, which still hurt. Sanders ..., Sanders only ever tried to do what was right. Not what was fair, not what made her feel best, or sheltered her, or helped her. But what was right.
And what was right didn't always feel so good.
“Sanders,” she sighed, climbing out of her chair. “You are the best person I know. If you ever think otherwise, that will upset me.”
“I don't understand. When you thought it was Jameson keeping these things from you, you wanted to hurt him. You wanted to leave him, leave us. But when it's me doing these things, it's alright?” he asked, a wary look in his eye as he finally sat his glass down on the coffee table. She shook her head.
“It's not alright. I'm hurt. But I know your heart was in the right place. I can't be mad at that. Just do me a favor?” she asked, moving to sit next to him.
“Anything.”
“Next time something weird happens, or some bullshit gets said, or I get attacked by Jameson's Amazonian love child,” she babbled as she swung her legs across his lap, “fucking say something. You aren't protecting anyone by letting us all bumble around in the dark. Alright?” He actually laughed.