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I know exactly what will happen later. He’ll offer his version of an apology. He’ll say something simple. Something like, “I know you’re devoted to your job. But we miss you when you’re gone.”
I’ll sigh, sidle up close to him, and respond the way I’m supposed to, even if it’s not the way I actually feel. I’ll tell him I miss him too.
“Do you?” he’ll ask as his hand trails down my back, eventually finding my ass. Maybe he’ll want mercy sex, maybe it’s a sign of submission. But more likely, it’s only packaged that way. He’s asserting himself, claiming both his position and me. I won’t care. I’ll kill it either way.
“You know I hate being away from you and the girls,” I’ll tell him, the lies dripping effortlessly from my lips.
His fingers will relax before stretching out again as he toys with the edge of my panties. For sure, I won’t let the moment go to waste. “I’m sure business will pick up for you in the New Year and then I can cut back.”
His hand will drop, and he’ll tell me we don’t need the money that bad. His lies won’t come so easily.
I’ll pull back and look him in the eye. “I know,” I’ll say. “It’s just…who knows what the economy is going to do? Your work is slow as it is, and I don’t think I could handle another 2008. Could you?”
He won’t be able to argue against uncertainty, so most likely he’ll say nothing. “You do so much for us,” I’ll tell him, knowing I have hit a nerve. My husband does not take rejection well. Never has. Mostly though, he doesn’t like being reminded that we need my income.
I’ll slide my hand up
his shirt. A peace offering, both the gesture and the way my suggestion is posed. “Let me take Hayley.”
He won’t turn me down, which is good, because as it turns out, I have a little catching up to do with my daughter. She doesn’t realize I survey data for a living, that I spend my days deciphering code, reading people, and so when it comes to where my children are concerned, it’s like a walk in the park.
Until it isn’t.
She’s not a good enough liar. Yet.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte
The brownies aren’t for home economics. They’re for a little twerp named Elliot Brown who talks down to my daughter and frequently requests that she send pictures of her tits. I would kill the little fucker myself but, given what I have on my plate, it might be better to fire off a warning shot than to go full-bore right out of the gate. Some wins take time.
I haven’t a clue what would make my daughter interested in a boy like Elliot Brown, but I know that if this kind of behavior isn’t nipped in the bud straight away, I’m in for a lifetime of blood on my hands.
We’re on aisle ten. I’m looking at laxatives while Hayley furiously taps away at her screen. We’ve already had a fight in the brownie aisle and currently aren’t speaking, but that will just make the discussion on the car ride home that much more enjoyable.
I’m in the process of trying to decide Ex-Lax or Dulcolax when a loud sound causes a jump scare that nearly buckles my knees.
It’s unmistakable. The sound of gunfire. Rapid, unrelenting gunfire.
“Get down!” I command as shots ring out, rendering my voice useless.
Her eyes are wide, but her fingers punch furiously at her phone. She stands frozen. “Oh my God.”
“What are you doing?” I hiss, grabbing her forearm and forcing her to the floor.
“Texting Dad.”
I grip her elbow hard enough that she releases the phone. It drops to the tile. I pick it up and shove it in my purse. “Your father isn’t going to save you,” I say, crouching down beside her. “And neither is that fucking phone.”
Pulling my Colt Combat from my bag, I tell her to stay low.
“Mom?” Her mouth drops and hangs open. “Why do you have a—”
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “You’re going to be fine.”
Sweeping the safety down with my thumb, I take Hayley by the hand, and lead her toward the back of the store, away from the gunfire.
It’s relentless, and it’s growing louder and closer. My mind processes the scene quickly. Gunpowder. The screams. Bodies hitting the polished concrete. Pleas. Low moans. The metallic scent of fresh blood. Cries for help. Fear. I register it all.
