I’d hurt myself on those date nights, over and over again.
It hadn’t been about those guys, not really. They’d been props, whips used for self-flagellation. I thought maybe Shelly’s deals were flays of her own whip and that was troubling, but we’d agreed not to interfere. After they’d let her into the hospital room with me and I’d dry heaved for an hour, she’d apologized to me in whispered tones for making me do this. She hadn’t protested when I’d gone into the police station to withdraw my statement. She hadn’t guessed what had happened, I thought, not then nor ever, but she saw what it did to me. She didn’t understand why, but she didn’t want me to be hurt.
The cocoon grew stifling. Suddenly I wanted to see people, these people who cared about me, God knew why. I still didn’t know what excuse I would make, but surely I could think of something. I wanted to leech their comfort, their normalcy.
I descended the stairs, feeling an odd remoteness. There should be pictures here, I thought, as I trailed my finger along the blank stairway wall. At the bottom I found Shelly and Bailey on the couch in the living room, playing a game of cards. I paused there in the corner, watching.
I knew from experience how Bailey played. We would deal the cards, in whatever number and setup we wanted, and Bailey would grab for the face cards—the kings, queens and jacks—and collect them. I always figured it was a pretty decent strategy for a toddler.
She’d probably grow up a card shark and best us all. I could only hope as much. Maybe it wasn’t the doctor or president that other moms hoped for, but it was all about power in the end. The money, the respect, and not having to take shit from no one. That power came in different forms in my world, but no less potent.
A soft clang from the kitchen caught my attention. Colin. I floated past Shelly and Bailey—not sure if they greeted me or not—and leaned against the kitchen door. Colin looked up from the oven, lines of worry on his face. I felt a pang of guilt at that, like someone watching herself be mourned.
He straightened and came to me. “How are you feeling?”
It startled me out of my trance, that he could speak to me. Not dead yet after all.
I had no fake story prepared, no blithe comeback to deliver. In fact, as I opened my mouth to offer one of those practiced platitudes—It’s okay, I’m fine—I found I couldn’t speak at all.
“Hey.” He pulled me against him in a tight embrace. “Everything will be okay. You’ll be fine.”
And damn me, even knowing it was a mirage, I believed him.
Chapter Seventeen
The doorbell rang like a gong in a cavern.
I shifted on my feet in front of the wide door. Colin stood like a pillar beside me, holding the cobbler. Bailey waved her hand futilely for the doorbell, trying to press it again. Muffled footsteps approached, and then the large carved door swung open, spraying light onto the front step.
“Won’t you come in?” It was the same guy as before, wearing the same stuffy suit. I wondered if he got days off. What was the pay like for door answering these days?
He led us down a hallway, past the closed double doors of the study I’d seen before, and into a very large room. A dark, curved leather sectional took up more square footage than my entire old apartment. Low lighting and groups of candles were—what was the word?—ambient. Soft music played in the background, something on the piano. I did a double take. No, there wasn’t music playing, like from a CD. There was a piano player in the corner. Fuck.
I could see Rose and Shelly seated at a bar at the other side of the room. I trailed behind Colin as we crossed over an inky black floor. Surely it was tile, though I couldn’t see the cracks.
“Hi, Allie.” Rose smiled and stood, her slinky black dress sliding into place. “I’m so glad you came. Colin. And who’s this little one?”
“This is Bailey,” I said, looking at her. She promptly shoved her face into my hair, dampening my freshly straightened hair.
“Aw, that’s okay,” Rose said. “Why don’t you come sit here? What would you like to drink?”
“Thanks,” I said, scooting onto the bar chair with a clinging Bailey. “Just water.”
As Rose accepted the cobbler from Colin, I nudged Shelly with my foot.
“I like your hair,” Shelly said with a smile. More of a smirk, really. She knew how long it took me to straighten it. She also knew I only did it because I so wanted to make a good impression.
“Bite me,” I muttered but without heat.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I softened him up for you.”
I threw her a look. I had no desire to hear the details of that.