Page 135 of Beautiful Scars

I try another angle. “She’s in a children’s home an hour away. It’s a good place. The woman who runs it is...I know her. She’s nice.”

Her eyes flick back up to me. And then she begins to shake her head.

“How?”

The bags aren’t doing it for me anymore. I put them down on the carpet and rub my hand over my stubble. “It wasn’t easy. But there were hospital records. A holding company linked to your mum. Donations that led me to the home.”

She raises her eyebrows. It almost looks hopeful. “You saw her? You saw my baby?”

Why is she whispering?

I nod my head.

“And she’s...okay? She’s happy?”

I nod again. “Happy. Healthy. Ten fingers and ten toes.”

She blinks at me a few times. Just sits there, blinking.

And then, it’s like a switch flicks in her brain. “Great. Good for her.” She nods her head. Presses her lips together. Picks up the scissors and goes back to snipping the ribbon.

I hesitate. I don’t fucking know the words. “Meisie, darlin’...she’s happy. But that’s not enough.”

“Of course it is,” she shoots back. “That’s why I came here. Job done. I had a problem, and you solved it.”

I shake my head. “It’s not solved. You know that. Not when we’re here and she’s there.”

“I knowwehave four-hundred of these to finish,” she says, not looking at me anymore. Too intent on the fucking favors.

I don’t miss the fact she emphasized thewe. I said we, I should have said you. Not whenyou’rehere andshe’sthere.

But I said we. Just rolled off the tongue.

Walking over on my knees, I take the scissors off her and throw them down on the carpet. “Fuck the favors.”

She lets out a sigh. “Fine. Fuck the favors. We have to fuck the favors becauseyousay we do, right? And if I don’t, you’ll just make me.”

I shake my head, knowing full well this isn’t about fucking any favors. “Meisie, I’m not trying to force you.”

“Really?” she scoffs. “Well, there’s a surprise.”

I scratch the back of my neck.

What did I think was going to happen? “I want you to be happy.”

Her exasperation is dramatic. “Don’ttreat me like a child. Don’t lie to me.”

I shake my head, looking at the wall. “I wasn’t.”

“What difference is there between lying and hiding?”

I can’t deny that one.

But no wonder.

She’s being erratic. Understandably so, but still. She’s not seeing it clearly. I grab her wrists when she tries to stand up and walk away. “She needs a mum, Meisie.”

“Then go kidnap her one,” she says, trying to push me and failing.