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Option one was going upstairs and telling Celeste what had happened that morning at the pier or finding a Celeste who had been talking to friends and had discovered it on her own.
This was what I should do.
Option two was staying there, because Lana was in a mood, entirely justifiably, and I wasn’t sure how that would go when she returned inside.
Which was what I decided to do.
Because Celeste had had an earful of it from Bobby, and that was not okay.
And I’d learned she really didn’t need to hear what Lana might have to say.
I fretted I’d made the wrong decision.
I found out it was right when Lana came in, and gently, even lovingly, but stupidly, Bobby said, “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t smoke.”
She didn’t even look at him.
She looked at Bohannan.
“Cade, someone is coming to get me. When he gets here, will you let him in the gate?”
That mystery was solved, even if I hadn’t yet thought about it. Bohannan went straight to the door because he’d gotten a call from Bobby to open the gate, so he knew he was coming.
“You don’t need a ride, honey. We’re going home,” Bobby told her.
She looked at him. “I’m not going home.”
He stood, starting, “Honey—”
“Mom has already got the boys,” she shared. “Dean’s coming over to get me.”
Oh dear.
I got off my stool and my gaze skidded to Bohannan.
Bohannan was watching Lana carefully.
“Dean?” Bobby asked, appearing genuinely perplexed.
“My boyfriend.” She shook her head. “At my age, that sounds idiotic, so…my lover. The guy I fuck who fucks me. The guy who, before we fuck, he makes me dinner a couple of times a week, when you think I’m having my hair done or getting a facial or playing tennis, or whatever you don’t really care I’m doing. He listens to me bitch about you and talk about my day, and he actually cares. I’m moving in with him. When we find a big enough place, the boys are moving in with us too. And I’m divorcing you.”
Bobby stood there, his chin in his neck, his mouth open.
“I got smart this time,” she continued. “My own job. My own money. Don’t get complacent,” she warned. “I’m going to take my share of yours. But I’m done with this bullshit game.”
“My daughter just died,” he reminded her.
“Our daughter was just murdered,” she corrected him. “And I’m going to need someone to help me navigate the grief, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, that someone will never be you.”
She turned her attention to Bohannan, then to me.
“I’m sorry this is happening here, and you have to witness it. But I can’t wait. I hope you understand.”
I opened my mouth.
And Bobby blustered, “Are you serious right now?”
I could tell by his face he was going to blow.
Bohannan could tell by something else because he was looking at the back of his head.
So he ordered, “Bobby, calm down.”
He whirled on Bohannan. “Now, are you serious?”
“You’re going to stay calm, and when Lana’s friend shows, you’re going to keep calm and she’s—”
Bobby blew. “You can’t be serious right now!”
“I warned you once,” Bohannan clipped out. “This is the worst day of your life, that gets you two warnings. But I won’t warn you again. You’re in my home. I’m not putting up with any more of that shit.”
Bobby’s face started getting red, for a different reason this time, but he said nothing.
Lana turned to me in a non-verbal, See?
I gave her an understanding look.
“Now, before this person gets here,” Bohannan went on. “I had thoughts about what we spoke about earlier, and I called the FBI to put them on alert after the scene had been cleared. I just called to tell them, they’re up. They’ve already got agents heading out. I don’t know what shape the sheriff’s department is in, but these agents are trained to set up a field post anywhere, so it doesn’t matter. They’ll be in touch, and they’ll keep you both informed of what they can share.”
“That bitch is not Malorie’s mother,” Bobby bit out.
Bohannan let his gaze rest on Bobby a beat and then he turned it to Lana.
“They’ll keep you both apprised,” he told her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Fuck this shit,” Bobby decreed, and stormed to the front door.
Bohannan didn’t stop him.
He slammed the door behind him.
Bohannan sighed.
“How long will it take for Dean to get here? Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine?” I offered Lana.
She was staring at the door, but she looked to me.
And she said, “He told me he’d hurry.”
He hadn’t lied. It wasn’t five minutes later when Bohannan’s phone chimed, and not long after that, we were waving her and her lover off.
Dean, incidentally, had burnished blond hair and a magnificent physique and was a couple inches taller than even Bohannan, and a good ten years younger than Lana.
