The Perfect Mother(72)
“Me and Lou? No. Not really.” He stands and takes the cake to the dining table, his back to Francie. “You know how it is after you have a kid. You gotta adjust.” He turns to face her. “I will say this, if it weren’t for May Mothers, I’d be pretty lost. It’s isolating, doing this as a guy. But you’ve all been great. I wasn’t sure, you know. A dad, showing up to a mom’s group. Let’s just say I was a little nervous about it. It’s been harder this past week, without the meetings to look forward to. I miss seeing everyone.”
“Everyone?” Francie says. “Or Winnie?”
He cocks his head. “Winnie? What do you mean?”
“I mean maybe you don’t miss her. Maybe you’ve been seeing her since that night. Maybe you know more than you’re letting on.” Francie can’t deny how exhilarated she feels, looking him in the eye, speaking the words out loud.
He folds his arms at his chest and leans against one of the dining chairs. He seems unsure of what to say.
“Not only that, but you seem a little obsessed with her.” She plants both feet on the ground and places her napkin and the ice pack on the coffee table. “I’m going to come out and say it. We know all about you.”
Francie swears she sees his jaw muscles clench. “You know about me?”
“Yes. Your arrest. Your criminal record. That ring a bell?”
“My record?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” She pauses. “So what did you do?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “You know all about me, so why don’t you tell me.”
“Well, that part I don’t know. Nell tried to find out, but she didn’t succeed.”
“Nell tried to find out?”
“Yes.”
“How’d she do that?” The panic she thought she’d seen in his face is replaced by something else. Anger.
“I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. She knows how to hack into things. She looked you up. Got into your May Mothers profile.” As soon as the words come out, Francie questions saying them. Maybe it’s not wise to rat out Nell like that, but she’s feeling flustered by the self-righteous tone of his voice, by the way he’s looking at her. She straightens her back, prepared to demand an explanation of why he left the bar that night, where he went, what he’s hiding. But before she can, he’s walking toward her.
“You’ve all been looking into me? Digging around, have you?”
“Yes, but—”
But before she can get the rest of the words out, he’s above her, reaching out, his hand gripped around her wrist, lifting her roughly from the couch.
The baby wails in his arms, and he shushes more loudly, feeling the anger rising inside him. Autumn’s heat rash is making her extra fussy; the doctor said it’s the result of too much time in the sling in this heat—it’s been in the nineties the last three days—but it’s the only way she’ll nap, and he needs her to nap so he can have a break.
He goes into the kitchen, dropping the entire loaf cake into the garbage can, seeing the expression on Francie’s face, how scared she looked when he led her to the door, shoving her into the hallway. He balances the baby on his shoulder and turns the faucet on, the steam rising as he rinses the plate. He miscalculated, thinking he could trust these women. That he could join their group, try to fit in with them, to think—
He slowly inhales, trying to compose himself. He needs sleep. He was awake most of last night, thinking about Winnie, about the message she left him yesterday morning, before the news broke, telling him they’d found Hector’s body. He hasn’t been able to get in touch with her—she’s not answering his calls—and he’s unsure what to do. He turns off the water and reaches for a towel in the cabinet under the sink. As he does, he thinks he hears steps outside his apartment. He walks into the living room, listening. Someone is at the door, twisting a key into the lock.
“Sweetheart, hi.” Dorothy drops her bag on the floor near the front door. “My god, it’s hot out today. They said it’s a record high—” She stops when she notices the expression on his face and then walks closer to him, hugging him, Autumn between them. “You okay?”
He nods, calmed by her familiar scent, her arms around his back. “I completely forgot you were coming.”
She pulls back and takes his face in her hands, studying his eyes. “Is today still good?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Mom. Don’t worry. I’m just tired.”
“How’s Lucille’s trip going?” Dorothy asks, removing her sandals and setting them beside the door before coming to take Autumn from his arms.
“It got extended.” He walks into the kitchen, placing the coffee mugs in the sink. “She won’t be back until tomorrow now. But it sounds like it’s going well.” He’s glad Dorothy can’t see his face. She’d know he’s lying.
Lou had called last night from LA, saying her last meeting was postponed a day. He knows that’s not the truth, that she’s staying behind to have one more night with him. Cormac. The fucking boss. The jerk with the CrossFit membership and a personal driver. It’s been a year since he found their e-mails, scrolling through her phone while she showered, searching for the dentist’s number.