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“One day I’ll tell you my story with Santiago,” she says, wiping some of my tears. “It wasn’t pretty when we got married. I didn’t want to be there. He and I…well, let’s just say he didn’t marry me because he loved me. Not then. But it’s all changed so much, and I can’t imagine life without him anymore. You and Jericho, you remind me a lot of us and I’m just happy to see you settling in and happy. Are you happy?”
I suck in a deep breath and force myself to stop the tears. “I don’t know. Things are weird but Jericho and I are in a better place. I just didn’t expect to be married and pregnant at nineteen.”
“I understand.” She opens her mouth to say more but then we both hear the sound of someone crying from Angelique’s room.
I hand the baby back to Ivy and hurry down the hall. Ivy follows and I slow my steps as I near the door. I hear quiet sniffles from the other side of the door, making my heart hurt. But what I hear next makes me furious.
“Stop that. No one’s going to give you any attention when you’re sniveling. You’re a spoiled little girl.”
“I’m not.”
I put my hand on the doorknob, rage making it shake.
“You’re lucky your father won’t let you go to a normal school for normal children. What with your strange eyes you’d probably sc—”
She doesn’t get to say more though because I push the door open so hard it slams against the wall. The older woman is clearly caught. She straightens and I see how she’s squeezing Angelique’s ear hard, the little girl’s head tilted at an angle. She’s standing on tiptoe to ease the pain.
Ivy gasps behind me.
“Get your hands off her!” I say, my voice trembling with rage. I’ve never felt this angry before, this protective. It’s like I’m on autopilot, my legs moving swiftly across the room. I’m pretty sure I’ll attack the woman, but she must sense it and scrambles away. I pull Angelique physically farther from the witch, red-hot blood pumping hard through my veins. I drop to my knees and hug Angelique to me, holding her tight.
“It wasn’t what you think,” Mrs. Strand starts, her face drained of any color.
“Get out. Get out of this room. Get out of this house. And don’t you ever come back,” I hiss, my voice foreign to me, my chest tight.
Angelique buries her face in my neck and clings to me, her body racked by sobs.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I tell her, hugging her, rubbing her back. “I’m so sorry.” I look up at the older woman from over Angelique’s head. She’s still standing there. “Get. Out.”
Ivy hurries across the room to where the woman’s briefcase is sitting on top of the desk. Santi fusses in her arms and she bounces him as she snaps it closed and hands it to Mrs. Strand.
“I’ll walk you out,” Ivy says.
“I know the way,” Mrs. Strand says and turns toward the door.
I turn my attention to Angelique who is holding on so tight that when I straighten to stand, I lift her with me.
Ivy walks out of the room after the woman, and I sit on the bed with Angelique in my arms.
“Don’t tell daddy what she said,” she whispers in my ear, her voice choked on the words as her body is racked by the after effect of violent sobs.
“Oh, sweetheart. It wasn’t true. You’re not spoiled. You’re the sweetest little girl.”
She sucks in shaky upset breaths and shakes her head. “I mean about my…my eyes. Daddy will think his are weird too.” She starts to sob all over again.
“Oh, honey.” I’m crying with her now. I close my hand over the back of her head. “There’s nothing weird about them. They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful inside and out. That woman is just mean.”
“She’s a witch. It’s why she always wears black,” she manages against my ear, my neck and face wet from her tears.
Ivy walks back inside and goes into the bathroom to return a moment later with a box of tissues. She carries it over to us.
“Is she gone?” I ask her, taking the box.
“Jericho heard the commotion. He’s um…dealing with her.”
“Oh.”
Angelique draws back and I wipe her eyes and nose. She glances up at Ivy and the baby, then quickly back down. Something occurs to me. I wonder if at least a part of her shyness is about her eyes. The difference in color between them. I wonder if all this time she’s been trying to hide them.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Ivy says, crouching down. She touches Angelique’s head. “I’m Ivy and this is my baby, Santi. Would you like to meet Santi?”
Santi coos as if on cue. Flirt for sure.
Angelique looks up from beneath long, thick lashes at the baby. I watch her smile because he’s smiling at her, reaching out to her. He captures two handfuls of her curls and she giggles. A moment later, her body heaves with a breath.
