AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I picked her up from a dance friend’s birthday party an hour ago. Cassandra’s daughter’s birthday party, to be exact. And the cheerful little girl I dropped off at lunchtime had become a wide-eyed, hiccuping, tear-stained ball of sadness.
The second I arrived at the door to collect Legs, she ran out of the house, flew past me, and scrambled into the car. Cassandra claimed total ignorance as to why Legs was in such a tizzy. In fact, she was downright dismissive about the whole thing. Any time I tried to ask a question about what could’ve happened, she suggested we “go inside and talk about it over drinks.”
Never have I ever come so close to raising my voice to a woman.
But getting angry wasn’t going to help Legs.
When I got to the car, Legs wouldn’t talk to me. She just stared down at her hands, face pinched and sniffling. When we got home, she ran straight upstairs, locked the bathroom door, and wouldn’t come out.
I’ve never seen her like this before. Lana Mae isn’t answering her phone—I know she has an important seminar this afternoon. Luke and Mindy are staying at their wedding venue overnight to do final prep with the wedding planner, and the ranch is two hours out of the city.
So, I’m sitting on the floor outside the bathroom at a total loss.
Possibilities fly through my mind. I recently watchedTurning Redwith Legs, but surely it’s a bit early for her first period? Google sure seems to think so, especially as Legs is small for her age. And it’s highly implausible that she’s turning into a giant red panda either, so that movie knowledge is officially useless to me.
Bullying at the party? I doubt it. As much as I don’t like Cassandra, that doesn’t equate to her daughter being a bully. Plus, Legs is good at standing up for herself and for what’s right. She has a strong sense of justice, which makes me incredibly proud of her. If she was being bullied, I doubt she’d react like this.
I have no yardstick here; I’ve never been a little girl before. I stare at my phone, still open to my unhelpful Google search of “why would an eight-year-old lock herself in the bathroom?”
Then, I dial a number.
28
ANNIE
Liam greets me at the front door of Lana Mae’s duplex and he looks like an entirely different Liam yet again. Not buttoned-up business Liam, sports-casual Liam, or tatted-up, shirtless Liam.
This afternoon, he’s… regular Liam. Liam in dark wash jeans and Nike sneakers, just like that Taylor Swift song. The one where she thinks the guy looks so good, she can’t help but imagine all of the fun things she could do with him.
I get it. This relaxed look suits him.
And it doesn’t hurt that those jeans hug his butt just right.
His face, however, tells me that this is no time to be thinking about his butt. It’s etched with worry (his face, not his butt) and he’s got a nervous, fretful energy about him that I’ve never seen before.
“Thank you for coming,” he says gravely.
“No problem,” I say with a tentative smile, shoving my mom’s car keys in my pocket and bending to pet Harry Styles, who is now purring aggressively while rubbing his side along my bare ankle (I wore capris for this precise reason).
I have no idea why Liam’s summoned me, but I assume it’s work-related, and I’m painfully aware of the fact that I was able to show up at the drop of a hat on a Sunday afternoon. True demonstration of my lack of any kind of a life (although the episode ofAntiques RoadshowI was watching with Mom before he called was a good one. Crazy what people pay for creepy clown dolls).
I have to say, though, I’m a little flattered that he seemed to need me so urgently. That I’m on speed-dial for potential data emergencies.
“I didn’t have anyone else to call,” Liam adds.
Oh. Scratch that. I was a desperation dial.
“What’s up?”
“It’s, um, Legs.”
My body tenses with worry. “Is she okay?”
“Well, the thing is… I don’t know.”
My brow puckers. “What do you mean?”
“She’s locked in the bathroom and won’t come out.”
