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My mouth fell open, but not in disbelief. Eliza weaponizing the police was not shocking. At that point, it was a pattern of behavior. She wanted to hit all of us where it hurt—the children included.
And what better way to do that than destroy the happy home that’s been created without her? And the crazy part is that I can’t stay true to my word and leave because I have this man’s baby. No way would I do that. We’ll just have to work it out.
“What does this mean for me? Will CPS become involved? Do I need to make a statement?”
Jonathan shook his head. “No, the officers were able to determine that abuse was not occurring in our home. So, this is all behind us, okay?”
I could hear the uneasiness in his tone—the silent begging for me not to do anything drastic, like pack up me and my baby’s things and leaving.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Okay?”
“Okay. What’s for breakfast?” I asked, changing the subject, taking him by surprise.
I have to keep reminding myself that Eliza is Jonathan’s issue, and I’m choosing peace.
“Whatever you want,” he replied, still trying to read me.
“Bananas Foster French toast and bacon.”
Jonathan nodded. “That…that can be arranged.
* * *
“Oh, you look adorable,” Felicity cooed as I entered the kitchen. I smiled tightly and thanked her for the dress. “All that black was washing you out.”
“I happen to think she looks radiant in black,” Jonathan commented as he pulled a chair out for me.
Kiss ass.
She sighed, “Men will tell you anything you want to hear to get what they want.”
“It’s not like that,” Jonathan pushed back. “Where’s Dad at?”
“He went with Anthony to get a Christmas tree for their home. He should return sometime in the evening.”
“The evening?” he asked incredulously as he rolled up the sleeves of his navy-blue Oxford shirt to wash his hands.
“Your father didn’t want to do it, of course. But Anthony managed to bribe him with the promise of aged steak and top-shelf bourbon.”
Jonathan shook his head in disapproval. “You should tell Dad to lay off the red meats and alcohol.”
“Jon, you simply can’t tell that man what to do—or any man, for that matter. They’ll do what they want to do. Isn’t that right, Kierra?”
“I’d have to agree with you, Felicity. A woman invented the phrase ‘I told you so.’”
“I listen to you, Kierra,” Jonathan interjected, defending his honor.
“For now, but I have a feeling that’ll change when you reach your father’s age.”
“Precisely. I told your father that he needed to cut back, and he told me, ‘Woman, let me die in peace.’ I have the loveliest eulogy prepared for you to read at his service, Jon. I included the story about how you and Marcus would play ball in the backyard.”
“We never played ball.”
“I know, Jon, but you must play it up for the mourners. They need to know that there was more to Marcus Winston Baker than deep pockets, good looks, and a big—”
“Bananas Fosters French toast, coming right up,” Jonathan interrupted, not wanting the conversation to go further. I smiled when Felicity snickered and pinched at her son’s reddened cheeks.
