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I look at her closely now, the girl who whose never reached her eyes. Is this why? Her expression is an almost comical mask of fear and is a stark contrast to Duke’s which is pure outrage.
“Don’t come a step closer man. I swear I will kick your ass.” Phil says as he steps between us.
“Fuck you, Wolfe You did this.” Duke seethes and his ability to cast blame on my brother right now snaps the taught rope binding my anger. And to think he’s supposed to be a feather in my cap. But right now, I want nothing more than for a big gust of wind to come and carry him off.
“No, you did this. And I’m going to enjoy watching you pay for it.” I step out from behind my brother before he can stop me and let my hand fly until it hits his smug, lying face.
“Beth, what the fuck?” he roars and makes a move to grab my arm, but Phil is back in the blink of an eye and slams him up on the door and clenches his fists.
“I told you not to come any closer.” He says, his eyes narrowed on Brock’s reddening face.
“Oh my, God, stop it. Please, Fiona can’t find me here, she’ll kill me.” Bridgette says her face already streaked with black tears, her lipstick smeared around her mouth.
“You should have thought about that before you came down here tonight,” Phil says and slams Brock into the door again. “Phil. Put him down. Please. I don’t want to cause a scene. And neither do you.” I say meaningfully, he’s finally building a life, a business. A scuffle with Duke is the last thing he needs.
“You’re so fucking lucky you’re not worth it, Tremaine, or I’d make you wish you’d never even thought about looking at either of my sisters.” He lets him go with a shove that sends Duke flying.
“Come on Beth, let’s go.”
I nod. I shoot a withering glare at Duke and look dispassionately at a now sobbing Bridgette and walk away.
“Are you okay?” Phil asks. “I’m fine. “
“Good, cause our mother is on her way.”
59
Beth
Sweet Mother
I’ve never been so tired in my life. Fiona fainted at the grave side funeral and has been put on full bed rest. Duke is licking his wounds somewhere and Phil is at the restaurant.
I spread the homemade marmalade my grandmother sends a crate of every fall onto a thick slice of honey wheat toast and sigh in relief.
The door swings open, and the perfume that trails into the room shatters the peaceful solitude of the moment.
“Hello, Elisabeth.” Her voice is as cool and clear as a winter stream. It’s her secret weapon because it hides the toxic, narcissistic bubbling brew that makes up about seventy percent of her blood.
“I heard you were coming,” I say without looking up from my plate.
“And, here I am.” She slides into the chair across from me. My nerves prickle, but I feign nonchalance as I eat.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked the girl who answered the door to have a place set for me.”
“So, you came for him, but not for Bethany?” I ask
“He wouldn’t let me,” she says quietly and my head snaps up.
“What do you mean? How could he keep you away?”
“The same way he controlled everything else. He promised to have me arrested if I stepped foot in Winsome.”
I fall back in my seat, amazed at the depth of his cruelty. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Would you have listened?”
“Yes.” I slap my hands on the table. “I was desperate to hear something, anything from you. I needed you.”
