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“Cilla! Slow down with that sucker or it’s mine.” When she made a face, I added, “I don’t want you to get hurt if you fall.”
She rolled her eyes like a jerk.
I sighed. Again. “I swear I’ve taught her manners. She just has a problem with authority. It’s genetic, I think.”
Marnie’s eyes were on Priscilla. “She’s beautiful. Running into them the other day … well, I guess I’m unsurprised that fatherhood suits Bastian so well.”
I barely recognized her and realized this was a glimpse of the woman who she was when she wasn’t busy with our rivalry. Guilt swallowed me up. “She’s already attached to him,” I said quietly.
“What’s she gonna do when he leaves?”
“Who says he’s leaving?”
“Oh, come on. He was always leaving. Leaving me. Leaving this town. It’s what he does.”
“He does and he doesn’t. He stays when it’s important.”
“Right. And leaves the second he gets the chance.”
I didn’t respond.
“It’s not you. It’s definitely not Priscilla. The man is a dream chaser, and nothing will stop him from that. Try not to take it personal.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
When she met my eyes, they were sharp with raw, honest pain. “We do the best we can with what we’re handed, don’t we? You did, and look where it got you. You have everything I wanted, and I’m barely surprised. Because he was never mine. He was always yours. There wasn’t room in his heart for me—that space was occupied by you. And now, her.” She nodded to my daughter. “But he’ll leave you just like he left me.”
“I hope you’re wrong.”
She offered a tired smile. “Guess we’ll see. Tell Cilla I said bye.”
I nodded to acknowledge her exit but didn’t speak.
There was nothing left to say.
21
Baby, What You Want Me To Do
PRESLEY
I probably shouldn’t have been zoned out while using a knife this sharp, but there I was, faceting the edges of bars of soap like gemstones with a paring knife that could have lobbed off a finger, should I lose my focus.
But my focus had been in the can for two days.
Yesterday, I’d wandered through the day in a haze of exhaustion and panic, working on the order for one of the shops downtown, an order I’d hopefully finish up today. Last night, I’d gone by Sebastian’s with a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue. But he was too worn, too tired, too fucking mad to have the conversation we needed to have. So the visit was brief, just long enough to make sure he was all right. I couldn’t keep everything I needed to say tamped down, so I left as soon as I could under the guise of Priscilla, only to end up in bed, staring at the ceiling as story after story played out in my mind.
In some stories, I was wrong. In most, I was right. If I knew one thing, it was that hope was its own special class of poison—it was not to be trusted or relied on, not when you could lose what you wished for in a breath. Disappointment, on the other hand, was as dependable as a nuclear clock. There was a sick sort of comfort there, reinforced by the hit of dopamine when you learned your terrible assumptions were right all along. It was the a-ha of a sleuth pointing their finger at the killer, saying See? I knew it.
This was, of course, followed by deep loss and self-loathing. I didn’t want to be right. But I was resigned to be.
“Shit,” I hissed when the paring knife hit the pad of my thumb. On inspection, it was a tiny slice, no deeper than a paper cut, thank goodness.
I took the knife to the sink with me and set it in the bottom before washing my hands and getting a Band-Aid, pretty sure nobody wanted my DNA in their soap. I thought I might have some of those finger condoms in my kit and dug around through single-serve gauze patches and individual packs of aspirin, looking for them.
The music my phone played was cut off by the vibration of a phone call. I’d turned my ringer off years ago—did anyone even use their phones for that anymore?—so if it weren’t for the music stopping, I probably would have missed the call from Olivia.
I smiled when I saw our picture on my screen. The sweet little red-headed fairy that was Olivia Brent had come to our tiny California town to take over her grandfather’s dairy farm, and she’d reshaped everything she’d ever touched for the better, myself included. She’d been selling my wares in the farm’s store since it opened, and had become an instant friend. She was the best friend I had in Maravillo, even after living there my whole life.
Olivia was spectacular that way. It was impossible not to love her.
