Текст книги "Dirty Red"

Автор книги: Tarryn Fisher

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

“Leah,” Caleb says in a clipped voice. “This is Cammie Chase.” The nanny smiles – one of those smug, puckered smiles where one corner of her mouth dips in. I immediately dislike her, too.

“And this is Sam Foster.”

Sam extends his hand towards me.

“How do you do,” he says slowly, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with me. His hands, I notice, are rough and calloused; something I’m not used to feeling. The men who run in my circles have the smooth skin of businessmen, their only work being to type rapidly on keyboards. His hand lingers in mine, and I have to pull away first.

I offer them something to drink. Sam declines, but Cammie smiles boldly at me and requests a Perrier. I look from her employer to her and wonder if he will reproach her for such a rude request, but he is talking to Caleb and doesn’t notice. I decide to play nice. I’m not going to give her the job anyway, so why not send her away with a few sips of Perrier.

I excuse myself to the kitchen and come back with a tray carrying the green bottle of sparkling water, a glass and two frosty beers – one for Caleb and one for Sam – even though he declined a beverage. They look at me as I set it down on the table.

As soon as I’ve taken a seat, Cammie looks at me expectantly and asks: “Do you happen to have a wedge of lime?”

It takes all of my control to keep my mouth from falling open. Surely this time Sam will say something. But, he smiles at me politely and ignores the little witch’s outlandish request.

“We have some in the drawer of the fridge,” Caleb presses. I glare at him for encouraging this sort of behavior from the potential help and stand up to get it.

When I return with my neatly sliced wedge of lime, Cammie takes it from me without even saying thank you.

I sit down in a huff, not even bothering to smile.

“So—,” I say, turning my body away from Cammie and directing my attention to Sam, “ —how do you know my husband?”

Sam looks confused. His brows dip together and his gaze shifts from Caleb to me.

“I don’t,” he says. “This is the first time we’re meeting."

I blink in confusion.

Caleb, who is reclined casually on the loveseat like he is visiting with old friends, smiles at me knowingly. I know that smile. He is amused at my expense.

I look at everyone’s faces and slowly the picture pieces together. Cammie’s audacity, the expensive clothing …

I try not to let my shock show as everything suddenly makes sense. We are not interviewing Cammie for the position of Estella’s nanny – we are interviewing Sam!

I can see on their faces that they know about my mistake. It's embarrassing. The little blonde bitch, who I see in a new light now that I know she owns her own company, smiles, showing her teeth for the first time. She is evidently delighted by my blunder. Sam looks slightly more abashed. He looks away from me politely, and I clear my throat.

“Well, I suppose I got it all wrong,” I say generously, though I am inwardly fuming.

There is collective laughter – the loudest being from Cammie – and then Caleb turns to Sam.

“Tell me about your experience,” he says.

Sam rises to the challenge, listing his childcare experience. He has a Master’s Degree in child psychology from the University of Seattle. He practiced clinically for two years before deciding that he didn’t like the politics of being a counselor – how cold and impersonal it felt. He decided to move somewhere sunny – South Florida – and get a new degree in Music, which he intended to use when he opened a rehabilitation center for abused children.

“Music heals people,” he says. “I’ve seen what it can do for a broken child, and I want to heavily incorporate it into the center, but I need to have a degree in it first.”

“So,” I say more skeptically than I intend. “You spent seven years getting a master’s degree and now you want to be a nanny?”

Caleb clears his throat and takes his arms off the back of the sofa where they were resting. “What Leah means is, why not practice part-time while you finish up the degree? Why nanny when the financial benefits aren’t nearly as great?”

I lift my nose and wait for his answer.

Sam laughs nervously and rubs the hair on his face.

“Actually, being a counselor doesn’t exactly line your pockets, if you know what I mean. I did it for reasons other than money. And, I don’t come cheap as a child care provider,” he says honestly. “Notice I’m sitting in your living room, which is a significant step up from middle-class America.”

I sniff at his mention of our money. I was taught it was bad manners to point such things out verbally.

“I have a daughter,” he adds. “Her mother and I split up two years ago, but you can say I am well versed in taking care of babies.”

“Where is your daughter?” I ask.

Caleb shoots me a warning look, but I ignore him. I don’t want some wild kid running around my house on the days that he has her. And besides, she might get the baby sick. Something I can’t point out in lieu of my latest escapade.

“She’s in Puerto Rico with her mother,” he says.

I picture a beautifully exotic Latin woman that shared his home, but not his last name. Their daughter would probably have her mother’s hair and her father’s light eyes.

“Her mother moved back there after we split up. That’s part of the reason I chose to come to Florida – so on weekends I can fly over to see her.” I wonder what type of woman takes her child so many hundreds of miles away from her father, especially when she can use him as a babysitter on the weekends.

“Sam,” Cammie finally speaks up, “is my cousin. I promised him my best job, and when Caleb called I knew it would be a perfect fit.”

“And, how do you know Caleb?” I say, finally getting the opportunity to address the question that’s been on my mind.

For the first time, Cammie looks unsure of how to answer. She looks to Caleb, who smiles at me indulgently.

“We went to college together,” he provides simply. “And, frankly, Sam, if Cammie recommends you – family or not – I believe you’re the best.” He winks at Cammie, who raises her eyebrows and smiles.

An alarm goes off in my head. Caleb was a hotshot basketball player in college. He slept his way through the cheerleading squad, and then went on to meet that home-wrecking bitch Olivia. I narrow my eyes at Cammie. Did she know Olivia? Had they competed for my husband? My questions are left unanswered, as money becomes the topic of conversation.

I half listen as Caleb offers Sam a generous salary, which he accepts, and before I can protest that I would prefer a traditional female nanny – preferably one with both a large ass and a large facial wart – Caleb is standing up and shaking Sam’s hand.

It is decided. Sam will take care of Estella five days a week, with evenings off to attend class. He will start tomorrow, as Caleb leaves in two days on another business trip and he wants to make sure Sam is settled before he goes. Which is code for: My wife doesn’t know what she is doing, and I have to teach you how to coerce her to use the breast pump.

I sigh, defeated, and remain seated as Caleb walks them to the door.

Well, I got my way – kind of.

Chapter Eight

Past

I was not a commitment girl. Until Caleb rejected me – then I was. We’d had the talk, the one where I asked him where we were going, and he looked at me like I was a space alien.

“You knew,” he’d said. “You knew when you got involved with me that I wasn’t looking for commitment.”

I countered that I hadn’t been looking for anything, either. That things change when people click.

But, Caleb had remained firm. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want me. He wanted her. He hadn’t exactly said that, but I knew it down to my marrow. I knew it by the way he always looked away when I brought her up. He wouldn’t even tell me her name. Whoever had ruined him had ruined everything for me.

I felt like a small piece of regurgitated potato skin. He just wanted to fuck me. I was curled up on my own sofa, after leaving his place in a fit of rage. I wanted to do something destructive. I called every single one of my slutty, ho bag friends and arranged to meet them for drinks.

I walked into the bar and had three numbers within an hour. Normally, I didn’t give any of the douchebags who approached me the time of day, but there was a doctor with an accent I found attractive. I tucked his number into my purse and had another drink.

By the time I left the bar, I was sufficiently sauced. Nothing new for me. I climbed into my car after bidding my girlfriends goodnight, and hadn’t driven five blocks when I crashed into a parked SUV. I sped off before anyone could notice me, but I was severely shaken.

I called my mother.

Her voice was impatient when she answered.

“Mom, I got into an accident. Can you come get me?”

“I’m in bed.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I need you, Mom.”

She sighed heavily. I heard my father’s voice in the background and her snap – “It’s Leah. She’s gotten into some sort of trouble. She wants me to go get her.”

They exchanged words I couldn’t hear, and then she was back on the line. “Did anyone see you?”

I told her no.

“Good,” she said.

They spoke some more. My father sounded angry.

I waited patiently, massaging my head. It had hit the steering wheel on impact, and I felt the beginnings of a headache.

Her voice came back on the line. “Daddy is sending Cliff. He’ll bring you to the house.”

Cliff was my father’s driver. He lived in a little apartment on their twelve-acre property. I thanked her, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice, and gave her directions to where I was.

What had I expected? My mother hopping in her little, red Mercedes and driving to my rescue? A hug? I wiped the tears from my face and shrugged away the hurt feelings.

“Don’t be such a fucking little baby,” I told myself.

Cliff arrived ten minutes later. He parked his pickup in an empty lot and jumped in the driver’s seat of my car. I looked over at him gratefully.

“Thanks, Cliff.”

He nodded and shifted the car into drive. The good thing about Cliff was that he wasn’t a talker. When we pulled through the gates of the mansion, all of the lights were out. I stumbled through the front door – which was left open for me – and felt my way up to the spare room. No mother waiting, no father waiting.

I cleaned up in the bathroom, put a band-aid on the cut on my forehead and swallowed three Advil for my headache. Crawling into bed, I drifted off, thinking of Caleb.

I woke up to the sound of my name. It was my mother’s voice, impatient. I sat up quickly and flinched at the pain that zigzagged across my scalp. She was standing next to my bed, fully dressed, her hair coiffed on top of her head in a perfect chignon. Her lips were ruby red and pulled tight. She was angry with me. I flinched again and pulled the sheet up to my chin.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Get up.”

“Okay …”

“Your father is very angry, Johanna. This is the third time this year you’ve had an incident with your car.”

I shifted uncomfortably. She was right.

“He’s having breakfast. He wants you to come down so he can speak to you.”

I nodded. Of course he would send my mother. Ever his envoy, my father never spoke to me unless he sent my mother to summon me to a meeting. Even when I was a little girl, I remember being called this way when I did something naughty.

I hurriedly dressed in my clothes from the night before and followed her down the stairs to the dining room. He was sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table, with the paper spread out in front of him. At his elbow was a cup of coffee and a goat cheese and spinach omelet. He didn’t look up when I walked in.

“Sit,” he said. I scooted into a chair, and the housekeeper brought me a coffee and a small, white pill.

“Johanna,” he said, snapping his paper closed and peering at me with his hard, grey eyes. “I’ve decided that it’s in your best interest to come work for me.”

I started. I already had a job. I worked as a teller at a local bank. My father did not employ family; he called it a conflict of interest. Just last year, my cousin begged to be taken on as an accountant and my father refused.

“W – why?”

He frowned. ‘Why’ was not a word my father enjoyed hearing.

“I mean – you don’t believe in mixing family and work,” I rushed. My palms were sweating. God, why did I drink so much last night?

My father was handsome. He had olive skin and light grey eyes. He had spent ten hours a week in the gym for years and had the physique to show for it. With my flaming red hair and pale skin, I look nothing like him.

His eyes locked onto mine and in that moment, I knew what he was saying.

A dull ache worked its way across my chest as if it was searching for something. It found my heart, ripped it open and climbed inside. I picked my emotions up from the floor and looked my father in the eyes. If he wanted me to leave my job and work for him, I would leave my job and work for him.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You’ll start Monday. You can take the Lincoln while your car is in the shop. Leave your keys with Cliff.”

He reopened his paper, and I knew I’d been dismissed.

I stood up, wanting to say something else, wanting him to say something else.

“Bye, Daddy.”

He didn't even acknowledge I’d spoken.

My mother was waiting for me in the hall. She handed me the keys to the Lincoln. This was such a well-oiled operation.

I drove straight to the bank and informed them I would not be returning to work. Then I headed to my townhouse with the full intention of drinking a bottle of wine and going to sleep. When I got home, Caleb was sitting on my doorstep. I stopped short. He was in his work clothes: grey pants, white button down, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was sitting with his legs spread, elbows resting on his knees and looking at the ground, seemingly deep in thought. When he heard my heels on the concrete, he looked up … smiled. It was his crooked smile. It reached all the way to his eyes and made you wonder if he was picturing you naked. God, I was so lost to this man. I walked right past him and unlocked the door. When I opened it, he stood and followed me inside.

Afterward, we ordered Thai food and sat in bed eating it. I was still a little raw from my conversation with my dad – not to mention, I’d just slept with Caleb, again, after he told me he didn’t want me.

“Why did you come here? You can’t come for booty calls and then tell me I’m not good enough to be your girlfriend.”

He set his container down on the side table and turned to face me.

“That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t need to, asshole. Actions speak louder than words.”

 He nodded. My chopsticks froze on the way to my mouth. I had expected him to at least put up a fight … deny it.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He took my container of curry and my chopsticks and put them next to his. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand while he was distracted. Something big was happening. I could feel it.

He pulled me onto his lap so that I was straddling him.

“I’m only going to talk about this once. No questions, okay?”

I nodded.

“I was with her for three years. I loved her … love her,” he amended. Jealousy rushed. That’s all it did – rushed through me with nowhere to go. It felt like I was going to pop from the pressure. I bit the insides of my cheeks.

“You never quite stop loving someone when you're in that deep.” His eyes kind of glazed over at that point. “Anyway, we were really young … and stupid. I couldn’t control her the way I wanted to; she was too strong for me. I made a really bad decision one night and she caught me.”

“You cheated on her?” Up until that point I had kept my mouth shut, too afraid to speak in case it broke the rare chatty moment he was having.

The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared.

“Yes – no.” He rubbed his forehead. “I was...” He dropped his hand to my hip. He looked so tortured that I reached up to put my palm against his cheek. I knew a little about Caleb’s father. He was a notorious womanizer. Currently, he was married to a woman younger than me. It was his fourth marriage. From what I gathered from Caleb, he highly disapproved of his father’s behavior, so cheating was coming as quite a surprise to me.

“I’m not a cheater, Leah. But, God that woman doesn’t trust anyone…”

I took a deep breath and let it ooze from between my lips. He watched me carefully, trying to gauge my response.

“But, did you do anything with her?”

“Not technically – no.”

I didn’t understand what he was saying. Did he think that he cheated just because he wanted to cheat? Did he want to cheat?

“Leah,” he swiped my hair over my shoulder, his fingers brushing against my skin. I shivered. We were having a serious discussion and all I could think about was —

I shook my head in frustration. “Either you fucked her or you didn’t.”

He sighed. “I never cheated on her. Not in the traditional sense of the word.”

“God, I don’t even know what that means.”

He tilted his head back and laughed. “Obviously our moral compasses do not point in the same direction.”

I blushed. A rare thing for me to do.

“Leah,” he said. “I like you. More than I should at this point. But, I’m still a mess. I can’t be in a relationship if I’m only in halfway. I still love her.”

My eyes filled with tears. He was telling me that he couldn’t even try to love me because he loved someone else.

“Fuck.” I swung my legs off of him and sat on my side of the bed. The sheet was pushed down to his waist. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. His face was wiped of emotion.

“So what are you saying? May I remind you that you showed up on my doorstep, not the other way around?”

He laughed, and tackling me to my back, he leaned over me.

“I am very attracted to you.” He kissed my nose. “I care about you. When you left the other night, you were hurt.”

“Yes, I was.”

“And now?”

I smiled up at him. “Now, I’m hurting in a different way.”

He laughed. He had a great laugh. It started as a rumble in his chest and then rolled out in a smooth, raspy wave. Every time I made him laugh, I felt triumphant.

I suddenly grew serious. “I can make you forget her.”

His lips were still curled in a half smile. His eyes grew foggy as he looked down at my mouth.

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, Red,” he said, softly winding a piece of my hair around his finger.

I giggled – also an unusual thing for me to do. Red. I liked that.

He kissed me softly and slid on top of me.

We made love. It was the first time in my life that someone made love to me. It had always just been sex.

I fell hard that day.

Chapter Nine

Present

I am in my Juicy sweats and a tank top, making a smoothie in the kitchen, when Sam arrives for work the next day. I am supposed to be watching Estella – who is napping in her movable bassinet – while Caleb takes a shower, but by the time I let Sam in the front door, I have forgotten where I parked her.

“How are you?” Sam greets me warmly, carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder. I wonder if he is planning on spending the night. I am creeped out by the thought of it.

“So, where’s my charge?” he says, rubbing his hands together and smiling. For a minute, I think he is referencing a credit card – because it’s something I say often as I browse the mall and scrounge around in my purse for my American Express – and then I realize he’s talking about the baby. It takes everything in me not to roll my damn eyes.

The baby’s insatiable hunger rescues me as she begins to mewl from somewhere over my shoulder. It is then that I remember wheeling her into the dining room. I glance toward her bassinet in annoyance.

“I’ll get her,” Sam says, taking control and walking past me. I shrug with indifference and wander toward my laptop. He walks back into the room, cradling her in his arms, just as Caleb bounds down the main staircase – his hair still damp from his shower. I feel a surge of lust just looking at him. Caleb ignores me and walks over to slap Sam on the back like they're old friends. He hasn’t spoken to me since our late night trip to the hospital, other than to ask a question about the baby or to spout an instruction. I turn away and sulk while they discuss things that don’t interest me. I am planning a trip to the spa and deciding how many treatments I can fit into eight hours when Caleb calls my name. Desperate to be the center of his attention, I forsake my computer and look up at him hopefully.

“I won’t be home until later,” he says. "I have a business dinner.”

I nod. I remember when I used to accompany him on those business dinners. I open my mouth to tell him that I’d like to come, but he’s kissed the baby and is halfway to the door. An empty planet.

I turn my attention to the manny.

“So you’re related to your boss,” I say lamely, biting into an apple. Sam raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t respond. My mind goes to that place where I wonder if Caleb ever slept with Cammie.

“Do you … um … do you hang out with her much?”

He shrugs. “Cammie has a lot of friends. Martinis with the girls really isn’t my thing.”

“But, don’t you want to meet someone?” I ask, getting sidetracked. He’s pretty good looking if you’re into the grungy musician type. Hellooo, grunge died with Kurt Cobain.

“Is that where you’d hang out if you were single?” He looks directly at me when he asks. It’s a simple question, but the look in his eyes makes me feel like I’m being interrogated.

“I’m not single,” I snap.

“Proof,” he holds the baby up. I look away.

“Have you met any of her friends?” I am hoping for a reference of some sort to Olivia. It would be nice to know if she plays into this somehow.

Sam plays dumb. I can’t tell whether or not he knows something.

“Eh, a couple here and there,” he says dabbing Estella’s mouth with a burp rag. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this?” he nods towards the baby. “I don’t want to take away your time with her.”

When he looks down at her, I roll my eyes.

“Nope, I’m good,” I say pleasantly.

“You’re not bonding with her, are you?” he says, without looking at me.

I’m glad he can’t see my face. My face is smeared in shock. I force my features into neutrality.

“Why would you say that?” I narrow my eyes. “You’ve known me for what? Five minutes?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says ignoring me. “Most women experience some form of depression after they give birth.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil. I am not depressed!” I turn away and then spin back around. “How dare you judge me – you think you’re qualified to “diagnose” me, psych boy? Why don’t you take a good square look at your own parenting skills? You have a kid in Puerto Rico, buddy … without you.”

Sam seems unfazed by my words. Instead of recoiling like I want him to, he looks at me thoughtfully.

“Caleb is a pretty nice guy.”

I stare at him. What did that matter? Was this some type of psychological trick? Some sort of trap that will confirm to him that I suffer from the baby blues? I lick my lips and try to see his angle.

“Yes? And?”

He takes his time answering me, setting the bottle on the counter and positioning Estella on his shoulder for another round of burping.

“Why would he marry a girl like you?”

At first, I think I hear him wrong. Surely not … he couldn’t have said what I think he did. He's the help – a lowly manny. But, when he looks at me expectantly, waiting for an answer, my eye begins to twitch – an embarrassing reaction. I feel heavy under my rage. Like I can lift it from my shoulders where it landed and throw it at him.

So rude! So inappropriate!

I briefly consider firing him, and then I see milk erupt from Estella’s mouth and run down the back of his shirt. I scrunch up my nose. Better him than me. I turn on my heel and charge up the stairs, as if motherhood herself is chasing me.

When I shut my bedroom door, the first thing I think about is sex. I have the urge to rip someone’s clothes off – someone being Caleb, of course. When I was seventeen, my therapist told me that I use sex to validate myself. I promptly had sex with him.

The second thing that enters my mind is the box of Virginia Slims I keep stashed in my lingerie drawer. I go there now and run my hand across the wood paneling at the back. It is still there, half full. I pull a lighter out of an arrangement of silk flowers and head for the balcony that sits off my bedroom. I have not had a cigarette since my sixth month of pregnancy, when I sneaked one after a particularly stressful night at my in-laws house. I light up while replaying Sam’s grody comments in my mind. I would have to talk to Caleb. Obviously, Sam could not continue to work for us after saying such terrible, degrading things to me.

I wonder what he meant by “a girl like you”? People had used that line on me many times in my life, but it was usually to deliver a compliment or to grease the prospects of my bright future. A girl like you can go far in the world of modeling. A girl like you can be anything she wants. A girl like you can have any guy she wants.

Sam had said it differently. There was no compliment, just … why would he marry a girl like you?

I suck on my cigarette, relishing the comfort it brings. Why did I ever give these things up? Oh yeah – because I wanted to have a damn baby. I stub out what’s left of it on the stone edging of the balcony and toss it expertly into some bushes on the ground level. Caleb cannot stand the smell of cigarette smoke; in fact, it was his one and only complaint about me when we were dating. He begged, pleaded and went on sex strike to get me to stop smoking, but in the end it took getting pregnant for me to kick the habit. I was going to have to shower if I didn’t want to get busted. I'm already in enough trouble. I strip down to my bra and panties and head toward the bathroom, when I see Sam appear in the garden with Estella. He's wheeling her in her carriage – a three thousand dollar purchase I have yet to even touch. I watch him with narrowed eyes, trailing him as he winds along the garden path, wondering if he saw me smoking. It doesn’t matter, I decide. By the end of the day, he will be gone for good.

“Your days are numbered, buddy,” I say tersely, before closing the bathroom door.

 Caleb comes home after Sam is already gone, which has both foiled my plans and left me alone with the baby. I am chewing on celery, when he walks in the door carrying take-out.

He drops the bag on the kitchen counter and goes straight upstairs to check on the baby. I ignore them, and dig around in the bag to see what he’s brought me. When he comes back down, he’s holding her.

“Wha—? Why did you wake her up?”

I was hoping to spend some time with him without her butting in.

He sighs, opens the fridge. “She’s a newborn. She eats every three hours, Leah. She was awake.”

I glance at the baby monitor and remember that I turned it off to take a nap. I must have forgotten to put it back on. I wonder how long she’s been awake.

“Oh.”

I watch as he puts the cold breast milk into the bottle warmer. I can count on one hand the times I’ve fed her. So far, either Caleb or Sam has done her feedings.

“She’s six weeks old today,” I say. I’d been counting down the days until I could sleep with him again. I almost hadn’t made it to the six-week mark when he came back from his run the week before. He is at his best when he’s sweaty.

The food in the bag is making my mouth water. I start eating without him. He brought chicken masala from my favorite little place. We eat from there so often I have the calories all worked out. If I eat one full chicken breast, five mushrooms and scrape off most of the sauce, I can get away with two hundred calories. I have to force myself to stop eating. I want the last piece of chicken, but if I’m trying to lose the baby weight…

He still hasn’t looked at me.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say. “My favorite.”

He nods.

“Are you just never going to talk to me again?”

“I haven’t forgiven you.”

I sigh. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

His lips pinch together. I hop off my barstool and make a brave move. He raises his eyebrows as I gently take the baby from his arms and lay her across my forearm as I’ve seen Sam do.

“She burps quicker this way,” I tell him, imitating Sam’s movements. The baby plays along brilliantly, burping loudly seconds after I do the little pat-pat. I relocate her to the crook of my arm and reach for the rest of her bottle. Caleb watches it all without uttering a word.

I smile at him sweetly.

Come on, you bastard. Forgive me.

I feed her the rest of her bottle and repeat my burping trick.

“Do you want to put her back, or should I?”

He takes her from me, but this time he holds my eyes for one … two … three seconds.

SCORE!

While he puts her to sleep, I run upstairs to put on something sexy. I am so nervous when I get back to the kitchen; I rip open a bag of frozen broccoli and cram a handful into my mouth.

I’m wearing a black nightie. It’s not presumptuous. I don’t want Caleb to know I’m trying to have make-up sex. I saunter around the kitchen until he comes back down. When I hear him on the stairs, I make a show of rewashing the bottles Sam cleaned earlier. I hear him behind me. He pauses in the doorway, and I smile knowing that he’s looking.

When he moves to the living room, I follow him. When he sits down, I crawl onto the couch next to him.

“It’ll never happen again. I was having trouble bonding with her. Things are much better. I need you to believe me.”

He nods. I can tell that I haven’t convinced him, but he’ll come around. I’ll play mommy, and soon he’ll be looking at me like he used to. I kiss his neck.

“No, Leah.”

I jerk back, narrowing my eyes. Who was using sex as a weapon now?

“I want to say sorry.” I pout a little, but he only looks annoyed.

“Then say it to Estella.” Then, he gets up and walks away. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. Rejection. Had that ever happened to me before? I couldn’t remember a time. This was getting out of hand.

I want to call someone – a girlfriend … my sister. I need to talk about what just happened, gain some perspective. I reach for my cell and scroll through my contacts. I pause when I reach Katine. She’d only half listen to what I said, and in five minutes we’d be talking about her. I keep scrolling. I reach Court and my heart throbs. Court! I dial her number. Before it can go through, I hang up.