Until There Was You(116)

His in-laws’ faces were frozen. “Son, we’re aware—” George began.

“I’m not finished,” Liam growled. “How dare you threaten to take away my daughter? The child I raised and read to and fed? How dare you even whisper that I’m unfit? Have you seen her? Talked to her? Don’t you know how special she is?” His voice broke. “You should be thanking me. You should be kissing my goddamn boots. So if you want to try something in court, you go right ahead. I won’t have to say a word. You’ll bury yourselves, and you’ll lose, and when you do, I wonder what Nicole will think about the people who tried to take her away from her father.”

Louise looked like he’d slapped her. “Liam…we…” Her face collapsed. “We just miss Emma so much. When we saw you with that other woman…”

George put his arm around his wife. “We’ll drop the suit. You’re right, son. It was stupid of us.”

The fight went out of Liam as if a light had been flipped off. “I know you miss Emma. So do I, believe me. And I know it wasn’t easy to see me with someone else, but I’m allowed to keep living. And I know you love Nicole. But you can’t come between us, and you have to stop trying. My kid. My rules.”

George nodded, and to his credit, he looked ashamed. Louise fished a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. “Have you…told Nicole any of this? About…the things we said about you?”

Liam looked at her. The echoes of Emma were in her face—her nose, the shape of her eyes. “No, Louise,” he said gently. “Of course not. And I never would.”

“Louise? Is everything all right?” A tall woman, dressed in Barbara Bush wear—sweater set, plaid skirt, sturdy shoes—stood on tiptoe behind the Tates.

“Oh, yes,” Louise said. “It’s Liam. Our son-in-law.”

“It’s prom night,” Liam said, smiling at her. He fished in his pocket and withdrew his camera. “I brought pictures of Nicole.” He handed the camera to George. “You can look at these without me, since I have to run.”

“Thank you,” Louise said, her voice still tremulous.

Liam looked at her a long moment. “Give Nicole a call tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll want to tell you all about it.”

“Thank you, Liam,” she whispered.

“See you soon, son,” George said.

Then Liam walked back to his bike, which had never looked quite so beautiful, and slung his leg over it, pulled on his helmet and started her up.

One more stop, and then he’d be done.

CHAPTER THIRTY

PROM. POSEY WONDERED how many people would walk away from tonight with the memories they wanted.

Only about a third of the kids were dancing—well, if you could call it that. They looked more like salmon swimming upstream, all aiming for the stage, oddly in unison, as the band played what the lead singer had called a “classic” by Eminem. Shockingly, most of the kids seemed to know the words: There’s vomit on his sweater already, Mom’s spaghetti…

And people wondered why she liked oldies.

Jon was wandering through the ranks, pulling out the kids who weren’t sober, putting in calls to their parents. A large majority of kids seemed to be trying too hard…shrill, forced laughter, exaggerated gestures, darting looks to see who was where and if he or she had noticed. And then there were those who seemed either bored or miserable. Sad, really, when you thought of how much effort and time went into preparing for the big night.

But there were the golden kids, and Posey was glad to see that Nicole was among them. She was one of the salmon swimmers at the moment; her face was bright and happy. Posey couldn’t wait to tell Liam—actually, no. She wouldn’t be doing that.

With a sigh, she looked around. Whitfield Mansion looked great. Same setup, same décor. Same cliques—the mean girls, the fringe kids, the smart-asses, the invisibles.

Well. Time to hit the loo. Posey made her way across the dance floor, stopped at a couple engaged in some  p**n ographic moves, cheerfully told them she’d turn a hose on them if they didn’t keep six inches between body parts, and continued on. The band’s next song was another she didn’t recognize, and more kids flowed out onto the dance floor. The music was so loud, Posey could feel it in her stomach, and the quiet of the bathroom felt like an oasis.

She realized abruptly that this was the bathroom. Huh. There was the last stall, where she’d hidden. May as well use that one. A long time ago, she’d had to bite her knuckle to keep from crying in here. Funny, how huge that moment had been at the time. Funny, too, how it was now just one of those things.

When she came out of the stall, she found she wasn’t alone. A girl was wiping her eyes with the rough paper towels.

“You okay?” Posey asked.

The girl gave her a panicked look. “Are you in my class?” she squeaked.

Posey smiled. “No. I’m a chaperone. I’m thirty-four years old, actually.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“Thanks. So. Having a bad time?” She turned the water on and washed her hands.

The girl’s face scrunched up. “My boyfriend just broke up with me. Can you believe it? Like, it couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”

“What a putz,” Posey said, patting the girl’s arm. “Want some advice?”