The First Taste(87)

My head throbs with an avalanche of thoughts. Will she come back? What does she really want? I won’t give her anything. Not money. Not access.

She has some nerve accusing me of being controlling. Anything I ever did, anything anyone does, is a reaction to her. She cares about no one but herself and the rest of us have to cope. I can’t get ahold of my thoughts. I only have half an hour before Bell’s finished and I have to get it together.

I take out my cell phone and dial Sadie’s number. She picks up on the first ring. “Forget something?” she asks since we were just at her place.

“No.” I train my eyes on Bell. Her complete obliviousness is the only thing keeping me sane right now. “Shana just showed up at gymnastics.”

“What?” Sadie asks. “The Shana?”

“Yes of course the Shana. Do you know another one?”

“Oh, she has some massive balls,” Sadie says. “I knew it. We should’ve seen this coming.”

“Yeah?” I agree and then pause. “No. Why?”

“Because she’ll never do better than you and Bell. I just hoped she’d never realize it. What does she want?”

“I don’t know. Money, I hope.”

“Money? Really?”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

Sadie grows quiet as that sinks in. If Shana isn’t here for money, she’s here for Bell. “She can’t,” she says. “She can’t just show up here, and expect . . . anything.” Sadie launches into a rant, and it’s a relief to hear outrage as passionate as my own.

And then I get tired, having slept very little the night before, and my shoulders feel a thousand pounds, as if I’ve been carrying a heavy load and only just realized it. “I gotta go,” I say. “Bell’s almost done.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“Obviously nothing.”

“I don’t know, Andrew. You can’t protect her forever. She needs to know about Shana. Maybe it’s time—”

“It’s not time,” I say through a thick throat. I am Bell’s parent. Her only parent. There’s no room left for Shana. “Now is definitely not time.”

“Call me later,” Sadie says with a sigh.

Ten minutes until practice ends, and I’m both weary and amped. I have the sudden urge to talk to Amelia, who will understand how this feels. Not in the fuming-mad way Sadie does, but in the knockout-punch to the gut that Amelia’s experienced. She’s dealing with her own boxing match and maybe, just maybe, hearing each other’s voices will help.

I pull up her number, lean my elbows onto my knees, and let it ring. And ring and ring. I get her voicemail. “Hey,” I say after the beep. “It’s me. Call when you get this. Any time. Even if it’s late.”

I hang up and watch the wind-down of the class until Bell cartwheel-skips back to me.

“Did you see me?” she asks.

“Yes, baby,” I say as she climbs over the seats to me like a monkey. “You were great.”

“You say that every time.”

“Well, you’re great every time.”

She gets on my lap and puts her arms around my neck. “The coach thinks I’m ready to try a backflip next class.”

Moms filter into the gym to pick up their daughters, some waving in our direction. There are no men in here. “Backflip?” I ask, focusing on what she’s saying. “Backflip—really? It’s not too advanced?” I cringe as I say it. I might as well have just dared her to try.

“No,” she says. “It’s not that hard. I could probably do it right now—”

“Not so fast,” I say. “I’ve told you. No gymnastics off the floor.” I don’t even like her doing them at home or in the backyard without a coach’s supervision. I pat her knee. “Get your stuff. Let’s go home.”

“Why were you talking to that lady?” Bell asks. “She’s the teacher who gave me the card.”

I shake my head because my throat is suddenly thick. “No reason.”

“Was it about me?”

“No. Never mind, Bell. Get your stuff.”

Jutting her bottom lip, she climbs off my lap and twirls around between the seats, teetering, hopping, almost flying off the bleachers. She gasps. “Ohhh. I know why you were talking to her.”

I grab the strap of her gym bag, haul it up to the seat below me, and unzip it. “Shoes.”

“Don’t you want to know what I know?”

I get her cardigan out along with her flats. “Nope.”

“She wants to kiss you,” Bell screams loudly enough to make everyone in the gym look over. She makes a kissy face, sticks her butt out, and wiggles. “She lo-o-o-ves you,” she sings. “She wants to ki-i-i-ss you.”

“Stop it,” I say. “I’m warning you.”

She jumps up on the bench and spins in a circle.

“Get down.”

“All the teachers and mommies want to kiss my daddy,” she croons. “He’s the most handsome, most nicest daddy—” She stumbles over her own two feet and falls onto her knees, nearly toppling over the side before I grab her.

“Goddamn it, Bell,” I shout, pulling her to her feet. “I told you to get down.”