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“I don’t know. Ask your son.”
“I mean with you. What’s going on with you?” She collects a loaf of bread and dumps it on the counter heavy-handedly. “You’re . . . off.”
“I’m fine.”
“Then why are you throwing up?” She starts buttering the bread, her attention split between me and her task. “Danny’s called me to make sure Doc’s available when he gets back.”
“Why, is he ill?”
“Don’t be smart.”
I let my head fall into my hands, massaging my scalp. What can I say? I’m stressed? Worried? Anxious? No. No signs of weakness. I can’t give any clues to suggest I’m struggling to deal with this world. I’m a joke. Because anyone with a pair of eyes can see the turmoil I’m in. I want to be strong. I want to be everything Danny needs me to be. Three years ago, no problem. Now? God, it’s so tough, maybe because I’ve had a taste of normality. Well, normality with Danny, anyway. Danny and I will never be truly normal. We’ll always be fire and ice. Hot and cold. “I’m fine.” I release my head and offer a meek smile.
The look pointed at me by my mother-in-law is a picture of incredulity. “The guy from the workshop called. He’ll deliver your gift for Danny the morning of the wedding, but it’ll be early. We’ll need to find somewhere to hide it.”
“Hide an ice sculpture?” I ask. “I’m more worried about making sure it remains ice.”
“Otto found the perfect spot. Shady and minimal air circulation, as the sculptor recommended.”
“When did Otto become an expert on ice sculptures?”
She shrugs, and I turn on my stool when I hear footsteps behind me. Beau wanders in. I feel like a terrible friend for not asking about her father when she sat with me in Danny’s office for an age trying to wring a reason out of me as to why I’m throwing up regularly. Truth be told, I feel a bit pathetic. She’s more together each day, even with bombs being thrown at her. I know the appearance of her aunt Zinnea has helped. Beau has told me a lot about her uncle . . . aunt . . . but nothing really prepares you for that first moment when you meet Aunt Zinnea. Or Zinnea Dolly Daydream, her stage name. And such a transformation from the skeletal, near-dead uncle I saw only a day ago.
I smile as she joins me at the island, reaching for her hand and squeezing. “I’m much better,” I assure her before she can ask. I ignore Esther’s light snort. “How’s your dad?”
“Insufferable.” She cranes her neck to see what Esther’s making, reaching across and plucking a raisin out of the dish. “Doc thinks he had a mild panic attack.”
I laugh under my breath. That’s not surprising, given what’s happened.
“You heard from the guys?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I look down at my cell again, my heart naturally picking up pace. I’d like to think Danny’s destination wasn’t Hilary and Derek’s house. Not when he walked out of here with most of his men and a small arsenal of machine guns. And yet I know Danny. He takes no prisoners. But I also know his adoration for my son is limitless. He wouldn’t storm in with guns, literally, blazing, not with Daniel around. But . . . Daniel wouldn’t be home. He’s at school, and Derek would be at work. “Oh God.” My head goes back into my hands, hurting, but shoots back up when my cell rings. I scramble to gather it up, deflating when I see it’s the gate calling. “Hello.”
“Rose, it’s Bud. I’m on the gate. There’s a visitor for Beau. I’ve tried calling her but I’m getting no answer.”
“She’s here,” I say, handing my cell to Beau. “Visitor for you.”
She frowns, accepting and taking it to her ear. “Yes?” She stiffens. “What?” It’s Beau’s turn to rub at her forehead. “Yes, sure.” She hangs up and hangs her head. “Fuck.”
“What?”
Pushing my cell onto the island, she gets up from the chair. “My dad’s girlfriend is here.”
“Oh.” I know how Beau feels about her. “Just smile sweetly and it’ll all be over very soon.”
“You’ve not met her. She’s unbearable.” She wanders off, muttering under her breath.
“I’ll come rescue you. Just call.”
She throws a small smile over her shoulder, and I return forward, finding Esther now plonking slices of buttered bread in her dish. “I’m going to lie down,” I say, getting up before she can resume grilling me.
“Okay,” she replies quietly. Thoughtfully. I pass Tank at the doorway. “Is it necessary for you to follow my every move around the house?” I ask, sounding grumpy.
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. He’s been following me around since the moment he was appointed my personal shield. Today is no different, I’m just being snappy.
