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“I’m sure as fuck not going to let it go!” Blake bellowed.
“Blake, please,” I said, stepping into the room. “She’s been through a lot.”
“You do not get to have a say in any of this!” he roared, as he turned toward me. “You have made this entire goddamn mess 10 times worse by hiding her all night!”
“Hey, I didn’t hide her,” I protested.
“Shut the hell up!” Blake boomed. “You are not her mother! Hell, you don’t even have any kids! How in the fuck would you know what it’s like to worry about them?”
I stood staring at him in shock as he emptied all the worry and fear he’d been holding in on me. I knew what was happening, but I couldn’t believe that less than 24 hours before I’d thought I was in love with this man who was now spewing rage at me. I looked up at him, and then silently turned and walked out of the room.
I waited in the living room until Nina got her things together. When she and Blake emerged, I ignored him and hugged her briefly as I handed her the coat she’d left near the back door the night before.
“I’ll see you in class later,” I said, as I kissed her head and opened the front door.
“Emily…” Blake began.
“Get out,” I said icily.
“Emily, please,” he pleaded.
“I’m not kidding, Blake,” I repeated, in a voice so calm it almost scared me. “Get out of my house.”
He raised his hands helplessly and walked out the door. I closed it quietly, and when I heard the click of the latch, I turned and pressed my back to the door, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor with my head in my hands.
Only then did I cry.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Blake
Nina refused to talk to me the whole drive home, and when I let her into the house, she ran to her room and slammed the door. I started to follow and then decided to let her cool down before I demanded that she explain where she’d been. I changed my clothes and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
As I fried the bacon and scrambled the eggs, I thought about how pissed I was at Emily for not calling me. It was one thing to protect a confidence, but it was an entirely different matter when the Waltham PD was out looking for my daughter. Emily was irresponsible and I’d been right to tell her so.
“Goddamn it,” I muttered, as I cracked an egg and watched the shell split into tiny fragments in the bowl. I tried fishing them out with a spoon and then my finger, but they wouldn’t budge from the bottom of the bowl. I smashed the bowl in the sink as I yelled, “Son of a bitch!”
The bowl shattered, and the mixture of egg and pottery flew out of the sink, landing on the floor. I could feel the rage building, and I knew I was on the verge of losing control. I gripped the edge of the counter and breathed deeply as I began counting backward from 100. It was a technique my mother had
taught Brian and me when we were young, and it came in handy on those off moments when anger and frustration threatened to spill out in damaging ways.
It was the only way I’d survived the last year of my marriage to Remy.
I felt the torrent of emotions begin to subside as I drew deep breaths, and when I got to 50, I knew that the storm had passed — for now. I cleaned up the mess and pulled the carton of eggs out of the fridge and started over. I wasn’t sure if Nina would eat, but I made enough for her and put it on a covered plate in the oven in case she decided to come out of her room.
I’d just sat down to eat when the doorbell rang. For a moment I felt hopeful, thinking maybe it was Emily, but then I realized I’d burned that bridge to the ground. “Damn right,” I grumbled, as I got up and went to open the door. Moments later, I was sorry I had.
“You stupid son of a bitch!” Remy screamed, as she stormed into the house waving a fist full of papers at me. “You irresponsible bastard! You found her, and you didn’t call and let me know? How could you be such an asshole?”
“Remy, look, I did—” I began.
“The fuck you did!” she yelled, cutting me off. “There is not a single message on my phone. You most definitely did not call me to tell me you’d found her!”
“Remy, listen, it’s been crazy this morning,” I pleaded, trying to get her to calm down.
“Blake Gaston, you are the absolute worst father in the world,” she shouted. “You let our teenage daughter stay home by herself while you’re out indulging in your little hot-for-teacher fantasy, and then you go to work instead of looking for her!”
“That’s a little dramatic, even for you, Remy,” I replied dryly.
