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Story time never had so many unanswered questions. None of them have anything to do with the mischievous genie and magic wishes he reads to her either.
I’ve lost my fight. I don’t want to confront him anymore over earlier, much less dig at secrets that will just piss him off more.
Exhaustion hits in a wave. I head straight for my room and shut the door, turning out the light.
It’s cooler than ever underneath the blanket. I fall asleep still trying to get warm, half-hoping the icy silence in this house just brings peace. It certainly isn’t making anybody comfortable.
The next day is a blur. He’s already in his shop before I wake up, leaving a list on the table with a few random groceries written down.
PICK UP. PLEASE.
At least he remembered the important word.
Progress? Who the hell knows.
I head out early, grabbing Mia.
She loves being out and about, bundled up in her new purple coat. We turn a few heads in the crowded store. The people who notice us take a sixty second break from their holiday shopping sprees to stare, wondering what the hell I’m doing with the Castoff’s daughter.
I give them daggers right back, especially the ones who linger uncomfortably on the little girl.
She doesn’t deserve this, pricks. Leave her the hell alone. I keep it to myself, but barely.
The others don’t recognize us because it’s too weird for them to contemplate. Or maybe they’re just sucked into their own worlds.
When we get home, he’s parked at the table, a thick mug of dark roast steaming between his hands. “You got the ham like I asked?”
I empty it onto the table, glaring as Mia crawls onto his lap. “Yeah. Ten pounds, like you asked. Seems like a lot for the three of us.”
“Always freeze the extra for soup and casseroles. Plus I’ll want to have my fill tomorrow. Thanks for the groceries, Red.” He stands, carrying the slab over to the fridge. I hold Mia while he puts the groceries away, rubbing a mewling Whiskey under the table.
“I wasn’t expecting you back so early,” I say. He gives me a look like I should have. “What’s wrong? Are you actually taking a day off?”
“Work can wait. It’s too damn cold out there now and I need to chop more wood for the stove. Besides, it’s New Year’s tomorrow. I’d be an idiot if I missed it with my favorite person.”
Mia chirps happily and laughs in my arms. He walks over, ruffles her hair. I’ve never noticed how many features they share. The little girl is truly his. Dark haired, blue eyed, and beautiful.
Almost nothing inherited from her mom, wherever she is.
“I’d like a chance to check in with my family if you’ll be here most of today. I’ve only been by a couple times this week. Also have a couple books I really need to pick up from the library, before it closes early.”
Marshal nods. He takes Mia off my lap, bouncing her in his arms until she giggles. “Go. I’ve got our food covered tonight and tomorrow. You’re welcome to the midnight snacks. Whatever you want. We’re just missing champagne.”
His eyes go to the sparkling cider on the table. It’s non-alcoholic, of course, a likely concession to his daughter. Not that I’ve seen him drink much, which surprises me, considering the rudeness strapped to him like a boulder.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” I say, feeling a weight lift as soon as I’m in my coat and out the door.
The drive to my parents’ place goes fast. Our small town skews older, and plenty of people are spending extra time indoors, enjoying the transition from one year to the next with peace and quiet. I grab my books at the library and then head over.
I park in my usual spot, walking in on a familiar scene. Mom and dad are in the living room, in front of the TV, watching an old movie on Netflix.
It’s more surprising Jackson and Ginger are here, especially since their car wasn’t in the driveway.
“Nice of you to join us, sis. I was beginning to wonder.” Jackson’s voice makes me tense.
Well, tenser. I’m in no mood for his crap today. If he still wants to fight over the job I’ve taken, I swear to God…
“Happy New Year, dear. Or is it too early?” Mom stands, hugs me, strangely tired today. “Sit down. You’re just in time for the Hitchcock marathon.”
I smile, flashing dad a look. He actually seems hopeful today. There’s good reason. Watching artsy films all day on New Year’s is a tradition stretching back to my childhood. Something mom has always done.
I take a seat, grabbing a soda off the counter, careful to keep my distance from Jackson. We watch the black and white film in silence.
Hitchcock is a master of unease, but that isn’t why I’m biting my lip by the end credits.
