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Uneasy, I gesture for Talia to leave the booth.
As I walk, my shoulders are stiff and my gaze is straight ahead.
“Uncle Dare,” Talia whispers, slipping her fingers around mine, “are you angry?”
“No.”
“You look angry.”
“I’m not angry, Natalia.”
Pretty blue eyes narrow. She looks so much like Lucy I could believe my sister walked out of a time machine.
“I didn’t trip that lady.”
“I never said you did, Tals.”
Her chest pumps hard. “It’s not my fault.”
I dip my head, staring at the sidewalk and struggling within myself. How do I address this? A huge part of me believes it was all an accident. Maybe the employee really did fall on her own. If not, she would have mentioned Talia tripping her.
But why did Talia laugh?
Because…
Because kids laugh at stupid things. Hell, I spent most of my formative years parked in front of the television watchingAmerica’s Funniest Home Videos. A show that was, arguably, filled with the misfortune and pain of others, synced to light, comical music.
Kids at that age laugh when someone sneezes loudly.
It’s fine.
I’m overthinking.
But I can’t quite form a smile and I’m quiet on the way home.
When we get there, Talia storms up the stairs. A second later, her room door slams shut.
Mosely enters behind me. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll head home now.”
“Mosely.”
He stops, eyes heavy on me.
I swallow hard. Guilt is sloshing around in my stomach and I’m not sure where it’s coming from. “The employee. Did you—”
“Yes.”
“Enough?”
“More than enough to cover dry cleaning, a new blouse and…”
“And?”
“Distress.”
The uneasiness rattles through my chest again.
I open my mouth. Snap it shut. Shake my head. “You’ve worked hard today.”
