Chapter 53
When she returned home on Monday evening, she called him at home and when he didn't answer, she left a message on his machine.
"Hi, it's me. Just wanted to let you know that I'm home. I was going to call your cell, but I didn't want to bother you while you're working. So, when you get home, give me a call. Or come over. Talk to you soon."
House sat alone in his apartment, listening to the message.
She called him again on Tuesday, then also on Wednesday, adding at the end of her message, "call me – I just want to make sure you're okay."
On Thursday evening, Michael stopped by. Marianne was surprised to see him.
"How's your case?" she asked him.
"Case? We don't have a case. Haven't had one in over a week."
She looked confused. "But you called Greg on Saturday. He came back here early because of your case."
"Mom, there's no case. We've been working in the clinic all week. House has been holed up in his office. Don't know what he's been doing. All I know is that he's been crabbier than usual, if that's possible."
Marianne couldn't believe it. Why would Greg lie to her? He had to know she would find out. Unless, he just didn't care if she did.
"Oh." She said. "I must have misunderstood him then."
Michael gave her an odd look. He knew that wasn't the truth, but he also knew by the look on her face not to pursue it – now.
Once he left, Marianne tried to figure out what had happened. He'd seemed happy on the way to New York – playful and sexy too. He hadn't wanted to go to the party, but he hadn't seemed miserable during it. After they came home, something had changed. He'd been ill, he'd said. She'd believed him and hadn't thought much about it. But had he really been ill or had it been something else? Was it something to do with meeting Richard?
She tried calling him on his cell, but got voice mail again. She left a message for him to call her. By the following Tuesday when she didn't hear from him, she was a little worried and a lot pissed. If he was mad at her, fine, he just needed to tell her why and they could work it out. But the silent treatment was unacceptable.
House was playing the piano. It wasn't helping his mood, but he had to do something. Drinking every night wasn't doing the trick. When he heard the knock on his door, he had a feeling he knew who it was. He stopped playing, hoping she would think he wasn't there and go away, but she had heard the music.
"Greg, I know you're there. Open the door please."
He sighed, then made his way to the door and opened it.
She stepped inside, looked him up and down and said, in a flat voice, "Oh, good, you're not dead."
He avoided looking at her and hobbled back into the room. She followed him and waited, but he didn't speak.
"Because," she began. "I was thinking you had to be. Why else would you ignore me for the past week. And don't you dare give me that bullshit about having a case!"
"I didn't have a case."
"I know."
He was silent again.
"Greg." She said, "Tell me what's the matter. Did I do something wrong? Did something happen at the party that you didn't tell me about?"
He still didn't speak.
"Goddamn it, talk to me! How can I fix it if you won't tell me what's wrong?"
"There's nothing to fix, nothing wrong." He said finally. "I've just realized that it's not going to work out."
"What's not – what are you talking about?"
"This. Us. It's not working."
"It's not? But we've been happy, we've had fun."
"The sex was fun. That's about it."
She stared at him in amazement. "You can't mean… Greg, I love you!"
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do! I've loved you for thirty years."
"No you haven't. You've convinced yourself that you love me. It's the only way that you can live with yourself."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You slept with me when you were seventeen. You had my son. You had to believe that I was your great love. That would make it pure and right. If you didn't love me, then you were just easy."
She couldn't believe what he was saying. "But with the cancer, when we got back together, you…"
"I felt sorry for you. You had cancer, for god's sake. I lied."
She just stared at him. The tears were coming up, but she refused to cry in front of him.
"Did you love me at all? Ever?"
"No."
"Not in high school?"
"I was infatuated. And I wanted to get laid."
"But I said no and you still went out with me."
"It worked, didn't it?"
She knew if she stayed there much longer, she would fall apart, but she had to ask one more thing.
"Was it all only about the sex?"
"Yes."
She turned and rushed out of the apartment as quickly as she could.
When he heard the door slam behind her, he collapsed onto the sofa and put his head in his hands.
