Grace looked inside. Khalil stood with his feet planted apart and his arms folded. He was still in the black tunic and trousers from earlier, his eyes incandescent. He looked enormous and murderous.
“He is a friend of mine,” she said sharply. “And I knew he was stopping by. I just forgot to tell you.” She had meant to say she was sorry for not remembering to tell the other woman, but she would be damned if she apologized now.
Therese cast a wide-eyed look over her shoulder as well. She switched to telepathy. And you allow him around the children? Are you CRAZY?
Khalil wasn’t the only one suffering from a touch of bigotry. Grace snapped back, Stop talking about him like he’s a wild dog or an infestation.
Therese’s eyes flashed. Fine. I would have thought you had more sense than that, but suit yourself. They’re not my kids.
That last was so callous, Grace’s expression turned cold. She said between her teeth, “I’m crossing you off the roster. Don’t come back.”
“Don’t worry,” said Therese. “I won’t.”
As the other woman flounced down the driveway to her car, Grace looked inside again. Max sat at Khalil’s feet, fingering Khalil’s black shoes curiously. He was oblivious to the tension between the adults. Also oblivious, Chloe was busily looking through her new pile of library books on the living room bookcase.
Khalil’s eyes blazed. He said to her, I caught that woman going through your things.
Caught totally off guard, Grace blinked. What?
He repeated, When I arrived, the woman was rifling through the papers on your desk.
Digging through her things? What the hell.
Even as he spoke and Grace tried to process what he said, Chloe grabbed two of the books. She ran back to Khalil, chattering. “See what I got today? I can read them if you help.”
Grace watched again as a remarkable transformation happened. Khalil looked down at the children, and his elegant face gentled. His rage vanished as though it had never existed. He told the little girl, gravely, “I would be honored to assist you.”
Chloe beamed at him. “Does that mean you’ll help?”
“Indeed,” said Khalil. He bent down to pick up Max. His tremendous hands were exquisitely careful as he handled the baby.
A new surge of fury and outrage clogged Grace’s throat as, behind her, Therese’s car door slammed.
Digging. Through her things.
Beyond the outrage was a sense of violation, a trust that had been broken.
She checked to make sure Chloe wasn’t watching her. Then she put her hand behind her back and stuck out her middle finger. Fuck you, Therese.
Therese’s car peeled out of the driveway with more force than was necessary, or maybe Grace imagined it.
She looked at the kids. She thought of them playing innocently while Therese snooped around. What else had the other woman done? Grace’s hands clenched, and a muscle in her jaw began to tick.
She opened the door and stepped inside. She tried to move as carefully as she could, because it felt like her rage was flowing off her body in waves. Max greeted her by blowing a happy raspberry. The smile she tried to give the baby felt more like a grimace.
Khalil glanced at her as he sat in the armchair. He settled Max on one leg and lifted Chloe, books and all, into his lap as well. Chloe folded her body up, perching on his other leg as naturally as if they had read together thousands of times before.
She could have hurt them, Grace said to Khalil. She could have done anything.
Khalil said, She did not. They are well.
The little girl eagerly opened her top book and pointed to the page. “What does this say?”
Khalil bent his head and began to read.
Grace watched them for a moment. They were a strange yet wonderful sight. If she apologized to anyone, she felt she owed it to Khalil for forgetting to let him know Therese would be babysitting. But she had only found out about Therese snooping because she had forgotten and Khalil had shown up unannounced.
It’s not just what the hell, she thought. It’s why the hell?
She didn’t have any money for Therese to steal, and the other woman would have known that. Grace certainly didn’t have any secrets. It wasn’t as though Therese was a teenager, with a teenager’s sometimes irresponsible sense of boundaries. Had it been pure, simple nosiness?
Forcing her muscles to unknot, she moved quietly through the living room into the office.
As she studied the room, she tried to remember exactly how everything had been. The stack of papers on her desk was a hodgepodge collection of bills, photocopies of journal articles for her unfinished school projects and various drafts of her resume. The papers seemed slightly disarranged—or was that only because she knew Therese had gone through them?