“Do you want pancakes?” I asked Colin, imploring him with my eyes. Let’s be normal. Just pretend.
His eyes narrowed, but he nodded.
Thank you.
I couldn’t talk about what had happened last night, not when it was so fresh. More than that, I wasn’t even sure what had happened.
I’d gone cold during sex before. In fact, I’d been cold during every sexual encounter I’d ever had, except with Colin. Never with Colin, until last night.
I piled three pancakes, the top one fresh off the skillet, onto a plate and carried it into the dining room. Colin sat, not at the head of the table, but near the foot, next to Bailey. Right in the syrup splash zone.
“Waka!” said Bailey. She was coated in syrup and pancake crumbs, from the tips of her sticky hair to her grubby, outstretched fingers.
“Good morning,” Colin replied to her, with the same gravity with which he’d accepted my offer of pancakes and peace. Satisfied, Bailey returned to sculpting her soggy pile of pancake. I set the plate down in front of Colin.
“Coffee?” I offered.
“Please,” he answered.
I returned to the kitchen, which I already knew like my own, and brewed the coffee. More baby talk trilled from the dining room, but I figured I’d best let them get on without me. I would try my hardest to keep Bailey in line, but if Colin was truly averse to the mess or the noise of a child, then this wasn’t going to work.
A string of warbled sounds. Low tones. The bang of tiny fists on the high chair tray punctuated with a shriek.
I rushed into the dining room, prepared for the worst. Bailey fussing or throwing a tantrum. Colin angry and splashed with syrup.
What I found was Colin sliding a handful of pancake squares onto Bailey’s tray. A slice of the pancakes from his plate was missing, now replaced with Bailey’s pancake lump.
He turned to look at me, all seriousness. “She wanted to trade.”
Bailey giggled.
How in the hell he’d understood that from her garbled syllables, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Bailey was happy. Colin seemed happy enough. And, dammit, if I could just figure out the trick, surely I could be happy too.
After breakfast Colin headed out to run some “errands.” His restaurant had a general manager, but Colin still checked in, preferably around peak mealtimes. He also spent a fair amount of time at home with me and Bailey, but the rest of his time was unaccounted for. He went out, and I wouldn’t be the nagging woman to demand to know where he was going and when he’d return.
We both knew that at least some of his time was spent working for his brother, but we didn’t talk about it. Avoidance may not be a psychotherapist-certified coping technique, but it worked for me. I wasn’t trying to get fancy. This wasn’t about true love. I didn’t need Colin to complete me. I just wanted some security, and he was it.
An hour later Bailey and I were rescuing the doll princess from the foam block castle. The doorbell rang. I’d told Shelly to just come around back. I stood and opened the door, but it wasn’t her.
Two men stood on the porch, dressed in identical brown suits. Cops. I knew this from years of avoiding them, not because I was a consummate lawbreaker, but because it was a well-known fact, in my neighborhood, at least, that cops only brought trouble. They’d brought a whole lot of nothing back when I’d needed them, but I suspected this was trouble.
I tightened my fingers on the door and hugged it close to my body.
“Allison Winters?” His face had the look of an overweight person, though he wasn’t really, and it was mottled red. It took me a second to place it—the look of an alcoholic. “We’re with the Chicago Police Department. I’m Detective Shaw, and this is Detective Cameron. We’d like to have a word with you.”
How the hell did they know who I was? Or where to find me? “What is this about?”
“It’ll be best if we come inside.”
I glanced back at Bailey on the floor. I hated the thought of these men, with their weapons and condescension, being around her. My long-practiced avoidance demanded I slam the door on whatever bad news they brought, but it seemed that lately the cockroaches crawled out into the sunlight. There was nowhere to go. No place was safe.
The cops accepted my deliberation without surprise. The second cop, with a surprisingly respectful demeanor and startling blue eyes, offered his badge and prodded, “Ma’am.”
“Yes. Come in.” I opened the door wide and allowed them into the living room.
How would someone act if she’d done nothing wrong? That’s the part I had to play. I hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but that didn’t seem to matter when my heart was hammering in my chest. Keeping secrets had turned me into a skittish creature.