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She must read the question on my face because her smile turns feline. “We talked on his drive home,” she says slyly. “And while he was away,” she tacks on, adding more nails to the proverbial coffin appearing at my feet.
Every drop of blood drains from my body, spilling into the wooden box like some macabre vampire movie.
Except it’s not a movie. It’s my life and it’s perpetually fucking me in the ass.
Did he call her and not me? Why would he do that? Why would he let her know he was already on his way home, but not me? He barely even spoke to me in the last week and I didn’t push it, knowing, assuming, he was too busy.
Guess not.
“We had the most pleasant chats,” she continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I swear on everything that is holy, Mary preens at the obvious discomfort emanating from my still form.
Get it together, Eve. Fuck.
It’d always been clear Mary had a thing for Isaac. Even before Mama died, she’d never kept her hands to herself. But after Mama, it was like she saw the missing hole in our family and tried to claw her way into that spot.
I’ll be fucking damned if I ever let this viper step into my mama’s role.
“Anyway, I thought I’d bring him some pie.” She holds up a dish I hadn’t noticed was in her hands, her French-tipped fingers clutching the glass tightly. The gingham towel beneath it perfectly matches her blue dress and I cringe. “I know how much he loves peach.”
My cringe morphes into a glare.
Peach pie. Seriously?
It was only his favorite because Mama and I made it. He doesn’t like anyone else’s. Only ours—mine. Certainly not Mary’s.
She knows this.
“Oh, Mary.” I glance over my shoulder, feeling like I’m in slow motion as I watch Isaac stroll down the hall wearing fresh clothes with his hair fixed back to perfection. He smiles widely at her, looking past me as though I don’t exist at all. “What’re you doing here?”
He steps behind me, his chest only a few inches from my back. I feel his warmth radiating off him, and it takes all I have not to lean back into him. To seek his safety, knowing it’ll soothe the rawness Mary’s caused.
“Thought I’d come see you,” she says, batting her lashes up at him. My hand tightens again, and the door creaks with the force of my grip.
Isaac’s hand rests on my lower back, and instead of giving me the comfort I desperately hoped it would, it only makes me tense. He doesn't seem to notice or care, because he keeps it there, taunting me—taunting her. It makes me feel like a pawn between them.
“Well,” he says, stepping back and dropping his hand to his side, “come on in.”
I whip around to face him, my mouth gaping open. “What?” His eyes stay on her, his genuine smile never falling for a moment.
Is there more here than I thought? Does he really have feelings for her? Can’t he see what a user she is?
“Oh, thank you, Isaac,” she simpers.
Mary steps inside, her footstep muffled from the entryway rug that I chose. Slowly, the door shuts, trapping the balmy afternoon air outside. I continue staring at Isaac, willing the scene before me to change.
No one moves. No one says anything.
We stay huddled by the front door, me gaping up at him, him staring at Mary, and Mary—how could he just invite her in? Another woman, here in our home. In my space. In Mama’s space.
Doesn’t he see how wrong that is?
And it is wrong. Isn’t it?
Before I can say anything, Mary spins around, thrusting both her tits and the pie at my stepfather. Grinning widely, she coos, “I baked this for you.”
Slowly, Isaac accepts the covered dish and smiles back at her. “Why thank you, Mary. That’s so very kind of you.” He turns, passing me the pie and cocking an expectant brow. “Isn’t it, Eve?”
I glower up at him for a split second before my manners kick in, snapping into place like a taut rubber band. Swallowing down an indignant hiss, I nod. “Sure is.”
