“I know he is,” I whispered, staring at the empty driveway.
After clearing her throat, she asked, “How’s Andee?”
“She’s . . . fine,” I settled on, unable to bring myself to explain what had happened today.
Mom was already convinced I was failing as a mother based on the number of holes my daughter had pierced into her body; she didn’t need to know about the frequent visits to the principal’s office.
Or the suspension.
Or that Andee couldn’t direct a word at me unless it was coated in contempt.
“Tell her we said hello. And that we hope she’ll take us up on our offer to fly her down to Scottsdale for part of Christmas break.”
I nodded as though she were standing in front of me, staring with raised brow at the run starting at the toe of my nylons. Or my hair carelessly heaped on top of my head in a messy bun. My mother could find fault in the Mona Lisa.
“Mom, I’ve got to go. Noah’s here.” I turned from the window, no longer able to stare at the empty driveway. “Tell Dad hello for me.”
After I hung up with my mother, a text chimed. It was from Noah.
Be home later than I expected. Sorry.
Followed by:
Don’t wait up.
Something burned in my chest, spreading into my stomach.
I have a special dinner for us all.
I erased that and punched in something else.
We miss you. I’ll wait up.
After deleting that one as well, I hit Send on my next response before overthinking it.
Ok.
Turning the phone screen over on the counter, I was about to call up to Andee that dinner was ready when the doorbell rang. There was a short list of people it could have been, but I was not at all expecting the individual I found waiting outside.
“Hello?” I kept the door half closed, examining the young man as if I was searching for a bomb strapped to him.
He sniffed, looking past me. “Is Andee around?”
Blinking at the boy who epitomized smug, from his smile to his posture, I contemplated slamming the door on him. He had the kind of face that made it impossible to tell age—boyish in certain features, pure man in others. His forearms were plagued with tattoos, the rest of him covered in some shade of black depending upon how many times it had been washed and worn.
He had Andee beat in the piercings department, and unlike her combat boots, his looked as though they’d seen actual battle. Behind him was the kind of car that suggested he came from money—although the slant in his brows should have told me that.
I straightened, attempting to look taller than my mid-sized frame warranted. “Who are you?”
“Austin.” His shoulders moved as if everyone should have known that.
“Well, Austin, Andee’s about to have dinner, not to mention it’s almost eight o’clock on a school night.”
His mouth pulled on one side. “She’s sixteen.”
My fingers tightened around the door. “And how old are you?”
“Not sixteen.” His dark eyes flashed.
“You’ll have to leave. Andee’s grounded as well, so you can forget about showing up tomorrow night too.”
“Oh my god, Mom. Chill out.”
Whirling around, I found Andee marching toward the door. She’d changed out of her school uniform into an outfit that appeared to be pieced together by a mortician and stripper.
“Do you know this guy?” I asked her, challenging myself not to react to her choice of clothing. “Did you know he was planning on showing up here tonight?”
“Yes and yes.” Andee stepped between Austin and me, her hand winding around his wrist and tugging him inside.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I slammed the door and followed them into the hall as they made their way to the stairs. “You are grounded.”
Andee broke to a stop, resting her hand on Austin’s chest. “Will you wait for me in my bedroom? I’ve got to have a chat with my mom real quick.”
He gave a grunt of acknowledgment before bouncing up the stairs.
“How does he know where your room is?” I motioned up the stairs, blinking at my daughter.
“He’s been here before. A lot of times. You’re just not usually here. Ever.” Andee inspected the table inside the dining room, a look I no longer recognized registering on her face. “Neither is Dad, and neither is Miss Evelyn now that you officially decided I’m old enough I don’t need a nanny. I’m alone in this huge-ass house all night until one of you decides to show up. When I get bored, sometimes I invite friends over.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Kind of. We’re keeping things low-key.” As Andee climbed the staircase, her hemline gave no question as to what color and type of underwear she had on.
“That boy is not allowed in your room. You two can hang out down here, but no rooms with beds or closed doors,” I called up at her.
She kept climbing the stairs. “He’s already in my room. It’s not a big deal.”
“Then get him out of your room.”
“No.” She stopped at the top of the stairs. “You want him out of my bedroom, you can drag him out yourself. Oh wait. You don’t believe in that kind of conflict resolution.” Andee disappeared down the hall. “Use your words. That works every time, right?”
The slam of her door echoed as I choked on the “words” I’d been raising in refute.
Words. They were my life, my livelihood. They fought battles, won many, yet failed me every time where my daughter was concerned.
Where my husband was concerned as well.
Pouring myself another glass of wine, I retreated to the kitchen pantry, flicked off the light, and closed the door when I stepped inside. Settling onto the floor, I tucked into a ball, sipped my wine, and let myself cry.
In this dark, small space, I released the tears I couldn’t shed outside for anyone to see. I cried for my marriage, my relationship with my daughter, and my career that had become both a time and emotional vampire. I cried for the life I’d once envisioned and the one I’d manifested. I wept for the polished, flawless woman I presented to the world, and for the one I truly was beneath the shallow layer of fake beauty, Lycra, and prescription medications.
And in that moment, I was the little girl I remembered. The one who was scared and unsure and only wanted a hug from her parents and to be told everything would be all right.
That girl had grown into a woman whose fears and insecurities had matured with her.
The woman who had everything . . . had nothing at the same time.
Three
“I think he’s going to get off.” The words spilled out. “Skovil.”
“Well there’s an abrupt shift in conversation.” Connor’s attention shifted from his wedge salad across the table at me.
“We’re not going to get a conviction,” I stated.
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have some crystal ball I don’t know about?”
“I’ve been doing this long enough that sometimes it feels like it,” I admitted, shoulders slumping. “The jury. Most of them wouldn’t make eye contact with me during my closing. Last week, every single one of them would look me straight on, but today, I counted three who’d occasionally glance my general direction. We both know what that means.”