Page 109 of Solo

“Yes, well, perhaps you should have thought of that before you took her to bed.”

He’s right. But I don’t care. And all I want to do right now is share some of this bone-crushing guilt that’s sitting on me.

“What about you, Senator Brenner? You’re her father. The only family she has in the world. How could you have abandoned her like that?” I throw at him, careful to twist the knife.

“I didn’t,” he says, not at all surprised by my attack. “Not really, anyway. She’s never been truly alone. I’ve always had eyes on her.”

“I don’t think it works like that. She never knew you were there, watching. She always felt alone. I’m pretty sure that means she was alone.”

He seems to consider this and when he speaks to me again, he sounds resigned. Tired. Regretful.

“As much as I’d like for you to be wrong about that, you’re not. Dr. Markham, I know you’ll find this hard to believe, all things considered, but I do love Katherine. And I think you’ll find she loves me, too.”

“Why would she?” I ask in a tone that isn’t mean, so much as curious. He seems to get the distinction and explains.

“She understands that I don’t hate music or dance or theatre or art. I’m not some Neanderthal who doesn’t understand the need for aesthetic beauty in the world,” he says, then drops his gaze to the ground. “What I am, is a man who loved a woman more than life itself. She filled my world with music. And when she died, it died with her. Every note on the piano was a nail in her coffin to me. It was a reminder of what I had lost. The pain was so intense that I had no recourse but to try and force it to stop in the only way I knew how.”

“By making the music stop,” I say, astonished that I understand what he’s saying perfectly, because I’ve lived through this as well.

He sees this and nods, a sad smile filling his features.

“That’s right. And when Katherine wanted to make a life making music, well, I just couldn’t abide that. I tried reasoning with her, but she wouldn’t listen. In the end, it forced my hand in a way I never wanted to see come to fruition. But the pain…I couldn’t live with the pain anymore. It was killing me.”

Now I am nodding, too. “I—my fiancée…” I begin, but stop, leaving the rest unsaid. Turns out, I don’t have to say any more than those few words.

“I know about her. I’m so sorry. I could see what was happening when I investigated this thing further. Clearly you made the music stop, too, but in a different way. You don’t compose anymore. You starting teaching, probably thinking it would make it hurt less. And then came Katherine.”

“I tried to keep her at a distance.”

“But that doesn’t work. Not with her. She gets under your skin, that girl,” he informs me, shaking his head. Then he turns to the side and takes a good long look at me. “I see you, Drew,” he says suddenly and I am startled by his use of my first name. “You built a wall around your heart. Katherine tore it down. It’s what she does.” Senator Brenner stands up and walks away from me to look out the window, still speaking as he does. “But, whether you know it or not, you have a bigger problem on your hands right now.”

“I doubt that,” I mutter.

He turns to face me from across the room.

“Dr. Markham, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s the art of motivation. Not your own, but other people’s. Before things ever even start to go south, you need to have a good look at the people around you. Then figure out who has the most to gain from you losing everything. That will be the person who betrays you in the end—if you’re not prepared for it.”

“Senator, I have no idea what you’re getting at, so please just spit it out already,” I say, tired of trading enigmas with this man.

“Fine. Here it is, then. Humor me for just a minute and assume my daughter had nothing to do with that article in the paper. If you take her out of the picture, who else has something to gain from your humiliation?”

“No one,” I say stubbornly. “I’m sorry, Senator. I care for Katherine and I want to get to the bottom of this. But, as much as I want there to be someone else who could have done this, there just isn’t.”

“Is that so?” he challenges with a raised brow. “Who else was in the running for the tenure spot, Dr. Markham?”

“No one. I’m the only one with the qualifications.”

“You’re the one with the highest qualifications,” he corrects. “Who would be in line after you?”

“No one. There is no one,” I insist. “There’s me. The next person is one degree, three years’ experience, and several publications away from me.”

“Exactly. A huge chasm to overcome if you were interested in the position, isn’t it? There’s no making up that kind of a breech unless the person ahead of you is no longer eligible.”

“Well, sure, if you want to twist it around that way,” I admit with more than a little skepticism. “But that’s absolutely not the case here. The next one in line would be Tessa Morgan and we’re very close friends.”

His lips curl up into a sad smile. A knowing smile.

“Very close, hmm? Close enough for her to catch the clues that you were involved with someone? Close enough to be jealous that that someone wasn’t her? Close enough to know your schedule and where you could most likely be found by a reporter looking for a salacious photograph? Are you and she that close, Dr. Markham?”