Trespassing(66)

Bella laughs. I flinch a little when I look up from my plate and find her offering a spoonful of mashed squash to the purple-haired twin, oblivious to the fact that her father—of his own choosing or not—has landed her mother in an inextricable place, wedged between anger and fear and held captive with the fingers of worry and threat.

I want to walk back through the alley, hole up in Goddess Island Gardens, and have a good cry. I even feel like crying myself to sleep—complete with a face-in-pillow, limbs-flailing tantrum—a la Elizabella at her angriest.

But . . .

She’s not at her angriest right now. In fact, right now, she might be the happiest she’s been in weeks.

Mashed squash, barbecued chicken skewers on the grill, and of course my basic chicken casserole, recipe courtesy of Claudette Winters, litter the table. Remnants of a rock performance happening somewhere on the strip drift on the breeze, settling into our little party, lit with tiki torches and strings of pineapple lights and the last of the day’s rays.

“Nini lives in my hair,” Bella is saying to the twins. “But my brothers look the same. Like you guys.”

My glance darts from my glass of white sangria to my daughter, who tasted the squash because Andrea said Bella could feed her like a baby if she would. Who knew such a silly bribe would work?

With a heaping spoonful ready to go down Andrea’s hatch, she says, “Connor’s silly, but Brendan’s shy. They like airplanes, like Daddy does. Nini likes mermaids and dolphins, like me.”

“I’m with you,” Emily says. “Who doesn’t like mermaids and dolphins?”

“Well”—in goes the squash—“Nini thinks Daddy likes dolphins, too.”

“I want to go swimming with dolphins,” Emily says.

“Me too,” Andrea says. “Would you like to swim with dolphins, Ellie-Belle?”

Bella is nodding enthusiastically. “Nini says yes!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Christian’s smile. He’s leaning back in his chair, swirling the sangria in his glass, obviously proud of his nieces.

And I’m impressed with the way Bella has opened up to them.



She’s heavy in my arms, and half-asleep, but we’ve already stayed too long.

The sun is about to sink over the horizon, and the breeze is bordering on cool now, although even calling attention to that fact seems silly, seeing as it’s probably thirty degrees back home. And it’s not less than sixty here tonight.

“I’m happy to carry her down the alley for you,” Christian says.

“Oh, I’ve got her, but thanks.”

“Sure?”

“I’m used to it.”

But he walks alongside us, even past the gate and onto my property, past the empty pool.

“Thanks again for tonight,” I say.

“Thanks for the casserole.”

“No problem.” A few steps later, when the silence is near deafening, despite that band continuing to play blocks away, I say, “Nice night.”

“Yeah. Pretty typical around these parts.”

“Yeah.” I don’t know why I feel the need to fill the quiet; it’s just as awkward to talk as to walk on in silence.

When we approach the house, I’m zapped into a time warp that brings me back to high school dates and all the drama involved. Is there a certain way I should be acting?

“You have my number,” he says. “I’ll help you get that pool up and running in no time.”

“I do. And thanks . . . for the help with the pool, for everything.” For rolling with the punches with my quirky three-year-old. For not asking me to explain my intermittent tears during dinner and my silence after.

“Well, if there’s anything else I can do . . .”

“You know a lawyer?”

He grins and gives me a wink. “Criminal? Have you done something I don’t know about?”

“No.” I laugh. “Family.” Although to be fair, I’ve been thinking of seeing a lawyer who might cover both bases.

“Yeah, I know a lawyer. I’ll get you his name and number.”

“Thanks.”

I manage to insert the key into the back door, open it, and cross the threshold.

Christian backs his way off the rear porch and, smiling, gives me a silent wave as I close the door.

Papa Hemingway is instantly there to greet us, brushing against my legs, wrapping his serpentine tail around my calves.

And then I catch it: the hint of Dolce & Gabbana The One Sport hanging in the air.

I concentrate, inhale deeply.

The skin on my arms puckers with chill bumps.

I’m not imagining it.

Elizabella sighs in her state of near slumber and murmurs, “Daddy.”





Chapter 34

I don’t know why I’m afraid. If Micah’s here, that’s a good thing.

I wouldn’t have wanted him to hear me ask about a lawyer, and I wouldn’t have wanted him to see Christian walk me home.

Maybe that’s why my heart is thumping like mad.

Even though my arms ache to the point of numbness, I can’t fathom letting go of my daughter.

I carry Bella through the family room, past the kitchen, and into the laundry room. I turn on lights as we go, clearing each nook and cranny.