I think, I’m in so deep.
So I swing Libby up into my embrace. With a pang, I realize she’s already almost too heavy for this. I’m missing this little girl growing up. “Where were you this morning?” she asks. “I had to eat Cocoa Krispies all by myself.”
“Yeah, but Jonah’s bed-and-breakfast had waffles.” I smile at him, and finally, the two of us are once again at ease.
“Waffles?” Libby’s face falls. Obviously she feels she got cheated.
So I quickly add, “Next time Jonah’s in New Orleans, you and I will take him to get some beignets. How about that?”
“Ohhh-kay,” she sighs. I am being forgiven, but barely.
Which is better than I’m going to do with the rest of my family.
Inside, my mother accepts my introduction of Jonah politely, though without ever leaving her seat in the high-backed armchair. Her blue eyes scour him as roughly as steel wool. She’s never trusted my judgment about anything—least of all men. Geordie they liked well enough, but he was an exception to the rule of disapproval. “A professor, you say? Were you one of Vivienne’s teachers?”
How blithely she accuses Jonah of a massive ethics violation. Before I can reply, Libby does it for me. “MawMaw, I told you, Jonah teaches volcanoes!”
She raises her eyebrows. “I assumed that was a story.”
“I’m an earth sciences professor.” Jonah meets my mother’s eyes steadily, even searchingly, as if he’s looking for the truth I won’t tell him. “Vivienne and I have mutual friends.”
Which is a pretty neat way to sidestep the question of how we started going out in the first place. I’m impressed. “Jonah flew down yesterday morning,” I add, “and he’ll drive back with me today, so I don’t have to go alone.”
“Very kind.” Mom sounds like she doesn’t believe her own words.
This is when Chloe makes her appearance, coming in from the kitchen in a sweater dress and, Jesus H. Christ, high heels. “Heading back already?” The way she smiles at Jonah makes me realize why my sister went to all the trouble to fix herself up this morning. No, she’s not actually flirting with him; whatever Chloe’s other flaws may be, she’s not a cheater. She’d never go after a guy behind Anthony’s back. But she still has this need for men to notice her as the most beautiful woman in the room.
Jonah hardly even looks at her past a polite nod. “It’s a long drive.” Chloe’s smile tightens as it goes from genuine to artificial.
“I’ll be back for Thanksgiving,” I promise. “Just a couple of weeks. And I can arrange to spend a few extra days at home, with Dad.”
“What about Christmas?” Mom says it like I’ve never deigned to stay with them, when in fact that’s the one holiday I’ve never skipped. Granted, I spend as little time at home as possible, and I always make it back to Austin for New Year’s Eve.
At least, I did. This year has to be different. If being around for Dad means enduring hours or days of Anthony’s company, then that’s what I have to do. “I’ll be here, of course.”
My mother sweetly says to Jonah, “And will we be seeing you again over the holidays?” Obviously she expects him to dodge any solid commitment, thus simultaneously proving him unworthy and humiliating me. Mom never could pass up a two-fer.
Once again, Jonah doesn’t flinch. “I expect so.”
“Of course.” Mom settles back in her chair, satisfied—even pleased with him—but there’s a definite sense of surprise at my having found an interesting man. Like, Look what the cat dragged in.
The gauntlet is all but cleared. Now we just have to get into the car.
But then we walk onto the porch, where Libby is playing under her father’s supervision, and I amend that. We just have to get past Anthony.
“Y’all should have good weather for the drive,” he says as he strolls up to us, standing just a bit too close to me—not enough to stand out as weird, but enough to give me the creeps.
My response is clipped, almost harsh. “Hope so.”
Anthony’s grin widens. “Are we going to see you during the holidays, Vivienne?”
“Absolutely. Longer than usual this time.” For Dad, I remind myself.
He nods, as if I need his approval. And then he says, “Good girl.”
I don’t have another flashback, thank God. But the memory of Anthony saying this while I lay there on the sofa, crying, still shaking with fear and pain—it lances through me, sharply enough to drain the blood from my face.
Just walk away, I tell myself. That’s all you have to do.
But as I turn, I see Jonah. He stares at me, then slowly turns his head toward Anthony. Horror seizes me in its cold fist.
Jonah knows. He knows.
The sick silence of this moment is broken by Libby’s laughter. She’s still playing on the swing, innocent of everything.