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“I know that. But he does love us, and you have to admit it works. It got rid of her.”
“Mama got rid of her.”
They both look down at me as if I’m the deciding vote.
“Your mother,” I say sincerely. “It was definitely your mother who scared her away.”
Bronte winks and squeezes my shoulder. “You helped. I think you actually shamed her, and I didn’t know that was possible. Now let’s get you inside. You’re freezing and we should see how much damage she did. It sounded like it hurt.”
I touch my cheek gingerly. “It did feel like a Springer episode, didn’t it? I’ve never been slapped before.”
“Royal is going to tell JD,” Austen murmurs in my ear. “JD will tell his husband, who’ll tell his boss. Then Tanaka will make her disappear and make it look like some coked-up skiing accident.”
“Austen.” But Bronte’s chuckling.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Oh no. He wouldn’t…” I remember the secret Joey mentioned about his apartment building, the things I’ve heard from his brother-in-law, Carter. “He wouldn’t.”
I’m still calling JD tomorrow, just in case.
When I get inside, I see that Robert is rocking Barry in his arms with a grim expression. Hugo and Bronte’s husband, William, have Emerson cornered, talking to him in rapid but hushed conversation. He looks so upset.
But he won’t meet my gaze.
Arms wrap around my waist tight enough to make me gasp and I look down to see Langston’s head buried in my stomach.
“I hate her,” he cries. “I hate her.”
“Oh no, sweetheart.” I pull him close, bowing to kiss the top of his head. “No, you don’t hate her. It’s not in you. That’s why it hurts.”
Bronte looks at my cheek and winces, but I shake my head subtly and tip my head toward the living room. “I need to sit down and warm up, Lang. Will you come with me?”
He clings to me as we walk into a living room decorated in books. On the mantel, holding down the stockings that are already up and ready to be filled. More books are on the side tables. Every shelf and every corner is stuffed with reading material. I loved it as soon I saw it. It’s warm and inviting, like everything else in this family.
I take us over to the couch and, without lifting his head, Lang reaches for the throw along the back and pulls it over both of us.
“She slapped you.”
“I might have said a few things I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t very nice.”
He leans harder. “That’s no excuse.”
“No, it’s not.”
He lifts his head and digs at his tears with an impatient knuckle. “She never liked us. She didn’t want us when she had us, she just wanted to upset Dad. I want to hate her.”
“I feel sad for her.”
He looks up at me like I’m crazy. “Why?”
I wipe away one of the tears he missed. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing. She thinks she does, but she doesn’t. It’s going to hit her eventually. I only hope it’s not too late when it does.”
“What’s she missing?”
“You and your brother. She’s missing his hugs. The way your brain works on a problem. Your laughter.”
He’s shaking his head. “You’re wrong. She doesn’t miss us.”
