“My mother never would have done this for me. She’d blame me. Imply that I deserved it for leaving him. For not being a better woman. One capable of keeping her man happy,” I say. Maggie clucks her tongue in disgust. “Thank you, is what I’m trying to say.”
“You’re welcome,” she says. “I always wanted a daughter, you know? I thought Grady would be the best big brother. Protective and kind, as he is. It wasn’t in the cards. But we had Jules and then, Paige. Now, you. You’remydaughter, now.”
That makes me smile. It hurts, pulling at my puffy cheek and eye. It’s worth the pain.
“You don’t know what that means to me.”
“I might,” she says, and tips my head back gently to lather shampoo in. She takes her time, getting her own sleeves wet in the process. If she minds, she doesn’t show it. When the water runs clear, and my body is free of dried blood and debris, she helps me towel off and wraps me in my robe.
“Am I allowed to sleep, yet?”
“Of course. They only wanted to make sure you weren’t showing signs of something worse.” I’m steadier on my feet as I walk to my bedroom and climb into bed. Maggie takes the emptyglass from the bedside table and fills it for me. “No ibuprofen, yet, though. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “How bad do I look?” I avoided the mirror in the bathroom, not wanting to see how badly he’s derailed my career. Again.
“Not as bad as last time,” she says with a small wince. “I think Paige could handle it. Might actually put her mind at ease if she could check on you.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re both much stronger than you look.” She pulls the coverlet up over my shoulder, and I nod. “I’ll be right back, then.”
Nervous anticipation sparks through me. Truth is, I’ve wanted to see her since the police left after getting my lengthy statement. What I told Grady was true. I don’t want to scare her any more than the situation already did. But I’ve also wanted to wrap my arms around her, hold her close, reassure us both that we are really all right. If Maggie thinks she can handle seeing me beat up like I am, I’ll trust it. She knows better than me.
I’d like for that to change. I’d like to be one of the adults who knows Paige best. Deeper down, there’s a darker feeling, a niggling guilt that I’ve been trying to chase away since the sirens left and the noise quieted. Since I’ve been back in the prison of my own brain.
This is my fault.
I brought the danger here. To Stowaway. To Paige.
If spiraling downward were an Olympic sport, I’d wear the gold medal around my neck. It could hang from my Bvlgari Fiorever necklace, if that wasn’t still hidden away at Pierre’s.Assuming he hasn’t thrown all my shit out on the sidewalk by now.
The hope that I’d get my possessions back fled weeks ago. I still miss a few of them, though. Things I splurged on when I accomplished something I was proud of. That necklace, the McQueen fringe jewel clutch, the Bottega Veneta ruffle dress that makes me want to dance when I put it on. I worked so hard for those tokens. I deserve to have them, even if to just take up space in my closet.
My eyes close and sleep tries to drag me down to its depths. Until a small body crawls under the covers with me.
“Lulu,” she says so softly, curling up to face me, her head next to mine on the pillow. Her eyes still show some red puffiness from crying. It breaks my heart. Shatters it to a million tiny pieces.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say, smiling at her as wide as I can manage.
“You’re hurt.” Her tiny palm comes to rest on my cheek, her fingers soothing and cool.
“I’m okay,” I tell her. “I’m okay because of you. You did so good, Paige. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispers.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Lulu.”
I fall asleep with her hand still on my cheek, my arm draped protectively around her, and her dad standing guard at my bedroom door.
Twenty-Five
Grady
“You define you.”
Viola Davis
