The New Husband(24)

I told Ben all about it at lunch that day, and he got it right away.

“You’re like Cinderella, only with the wicked stepfather instead.”

“They’re not married. They’re not even engaged,” I groaned.

“Oooh, living in sin,” said Ben with an evil look in his eye.

I laughed, until Ben showed me printouts from StepTalk, “a website where stepparents go to vent.” Seriously, that’s the tagline. He would have shown it to me on his smartphone, but Ben is maybe the only kid in middle school I know whose parents won’t let him have one.

“Married or not, he’s close enough to make this relevant,” he said.

The website confirmed what I had long suspected: there were loads of stepparents who hated their stepkids. Not all, of course, but enough that they needed a place to “vent” online. It wasn’t a stretch to stick Simon in this category. I had no doubt he was putting on a big show for my mom. He wanted her all to himself, and we were the luggage he had to cart around. Maybe he accepted us as part of the package, but he resented me most, because I wasn’t buying into his good-guy routine like Connor.

If I had to guess, I’d say Simon secretly hated kids, including the ones he taught. Why else didn’t he have them with his last wife? And why did she have to die? If she were still alive, he wouldn’t be here. He’d be with her. I know she killed herself, but I wonder if maybe she got him mad. Maybe she saw that dark look in his eyes, too. Maybe it was the last thing she ever saw.

I watched Connor top his mini mountain of mashed potatoes with peas before inhaling half the structure in a single bite.

“Coach is thinking about letting me throw the ball on Friday,” he announced proudly with a mouth full of food.

“In a game?”

“Yes, Mom, in a game,” he said, finishing that bite.

My mom followed Connor’s football career close enough to know he played receiver, not quarterback.

“That’s good, right?”

“It’s a trick play,” Connor said. “But I took some direct snaps in practice. I think Coach saw that my arm’s gotten a lot stronger.”

“Well, I guess you have Simon to thank for that,” I said, after catching the appreciative look Connor sent across the table.

Simon sensed trouble brewing. “Now, Maggie, I just toss the ball with your brother,” he said. “Connor’s done all the hard work on his own.”

Daisy was under the table resting her head on my boot, which was hopefully coming off in a week or two—not that I would be heading back to the lacrosse field. That Maggie was done and gone.

“Sure,” I said, in a way that definitely poked the bear. Connor got the subtext right away.

“I can spend time with Simon and Dad won’t mind,” he said snippily. “Trust me.”

“You don’t know that,” I snapped.

“He’s not coming back, Maggie. Get real with yourself,” he said.

“Don’t say that.”

“Hey, hey, kids, let’s not upset your mother, okay?” Simon said, using a variant of his teacher tone.

“I’m not doing anything,” I said, overdoing the persecuted act for dramatic effect. “All I said was ‘Sure.’” Next up came the eye roll, followed by a well-placed headshake.

“Maggie,” Mom said, using my name to express many thoughts at once, Back off! being the most obvious of the bunch.

“Whatever,” I said, looking down at my plate so I didn’t have to look at anybody.

“Everyone take a deep breath,” Mom said, taking one herself. “I have some news to share.”

That got my attention. I had no idea what was coming, but I could see Mom psyching herself up for some big reveal. Simon actually seemed a bit uncomfortable. Maybe he didn’t know either.

“I’ve accepted a job,” Mom said. “It’s with The Davis Family Center.”

Connor perked up and looked genuinely happy for her. “Hey, that’s great news, Mom,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

“It’s a social worker position, focusing on family issues.”

Connor smirked. “Hmm,” he said as if some idea came to him. “I know a family that needs some help.” He eyed me nastily.

Mom returned his look, putting a quick end to any more snippy comments from my brother.

I got up from the table and hugged Mom tight. I was thrilled. Delighted. Overjoyed, to be precise—because I knew Simon was against it. While I congratulated my mom, I kept my gaze laser locked on Simon, waiting to see his face get red, waiting for the dark, scary look to return. But instead he beamed with a real smile, as genuine as Connor’s.

“That’s fantastic!” he shouted, rising from his seat. I moved away quickly before the three of us got caught in some weird broken-family hug. “When do you start?”

“Wednesday, two weeks from tomorrow,” Mom said, and then Simon’s expression changed dramatically. He looked troubled about something. He got his phone, which was plugged into the charging station at the little desk in the kitchen, because, you know, he lived here, too. I saw him frown as he checked his device. What could it be? I wondered.

“Two weeks, you said?”

“Yeah,” Mom said. “Why? Is something wrong?”