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Hurrying back to the Tudor, I hope to avoid the chill and any stray Rogers men.
A sulking Fiona doesn’t want to get out of bed. She rests with her eyes closed as I crawl in next to her.
“You’re an adult, Fi,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“Yes, but I sometimes forget because you’re like my daughter. I want to keep you locked away with me, safe and sound.”
Fiona’s lips curve into a smile. Her hands reach for mine. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“But?” she asks, savvier than she seems.
“Your father wants you to come to dinner tonight.”
Fiona’s smile falls away. “No.”
“He insists.”
“I want to go home.”
Ignoring how that’s not an option, I explain, “I think your father knows I visit the Pigsty,” I tell Fiona who smiles at the mention of the clubhouse’s nickname. “He said if I helped you tonight, he would be open to me returning to my Friday adventures.”
“Eagle,” she whispers and squeezes my hand. “Do you think he misses you?”
“I don’t know. He might have found someone else,” I mumble as my mind flashes to the pregnancy test. “He might have always had someone else. We were only together for maybe two hours a week.”
“But you said he wanted you to stay,” she says, squeezing my hand with more zeal. “I think he knows you’re wonderful.”
Smiling, I cuddle her against me. Despite her age, in my heart, Fiona’s my little girl. I raised her from that broken creature I found to this braver woman grinning about my love life.
As strong as Fiona has gotten over the years, I don’t dare tell her about the pregnancy yet. I have no idea how she’ll react. A baby could excite her, only for me to lose the pregnancy. Fiona tends to view bad events as punishments from God. Zaja filled her head with all kinds of nonsense long before I entered their lives.
However, my real worry is Fiona will become rattled by my pregnancy. She’s been my sole focus for a dozen years. I arrived in her life with nothing. She saved me from the grief dragging me down.
With a baby, my existence would no longer revolve around Fiona. I worry she could lash out and create trouble for us. Fiona doesn’t really understand long-term consequences, again believing people are cursed or lucky based on a pissy god’s mood swings.
“I miss Eagle,” I admit to Fiona who no longer pouts. “He looked so dapper at the funeral. I tried not to stare. I think I held myself together. Inside, though, I was a horny dog wanting to rub against the furniture.”
Fiona laughs at the thought. “Many men look ridiculous in suits,” she says, clearly repeating something she heard from Zaja. “I’m sure Eagle looked handsome. Was his hair back or loose?”
“Tied back but the wind tugged his hair free until it fell into his eyes.”
Fiona smiles easier. “I want to take a Xanax before dinner.”
“Of course. We’ll bring Gatsby and your cane.”
“I need to be dressed in many layers of clothes. I can’t see if I’m showing off my flesh.”
I smile softly at how she reminds me of the rules I’ve known for years. Fiona was such a mess when I found her, yet she soon listed off the things she believed to be true. Even after all this time, many of those bizarre rules remain locked in her damaged brain.
I dress her in two shirts, both long sleeves and one a turtleneck. She wears leggings under her dark brown sweatpants. Her tiny feet are covered in two pairs of socks and tan Converse. I strap on the soft black knee and elbow pads. Her hands wriggle into beige mittens as I snap the strap on her burgundy safety helmet. Finally, she slides on her orange-and-black aviator glasses with the extra tint.
“I’m not afraid,” Fiona lies as we step to the front door. “I feel the Xanax relaxing me.”
Noticing her lower lip trembling, I stroke her back. She exhales uneasily.
