by Kira Blakely
“What’s the problem?” she wonders brightly. Her voice changes to a lower, breathier, and angrier tone mid-sentence, though. “You don’t want to hear my opinion about who is spending all their time with my children? And do you think it’s at all appropriate that you are sticking your penis in her?”
“I’m the primary caregiver,” I remind her. “The decision is mine to make. Maggie is great with the kids. You’ve seen her. You know you’re just jealous, Astrid. You know it. Listen to yourself. No one is putting penises in anyone else around here. This is a sex-free house.”
“Oh, really? And which guestroom did she fucking take?” Astrid demands to know.
She’s got me there. The downstairs guestroom is bigger, and it has its own bathroom and television and couch. Yet I showed her the guestroom upstairs, with the adjoining room, and I told myself that it was for closeness to the children. But was it? Or was it for closeness to me?
Her mouth falls open, and her eyes squint almost shut with rage. “She’s upstairs, just sharing a bathroom with you, isn’t she? You dirty old man!”
“I am not old,” I say. “I’m thirty-seven.”
“And I am not jealous,” Astrid insists. “Of what? That, that glorified babysitter? That child? Getting your dick? Please!” Astrid lets out a huff, trying to pass it off as a laugh, even though it doesn’t come from her chest or her belly. Just her throat. “Like it’s that hard to catch a dick! Trust me, I could walk outside and trip over another man’s dick, Lucas.”
I clear my throat. “The kids,” I remind her. We’re talking a little too loud, and we’re only separated by one door. It’s quiet in there. They’re all listening.
“You should be the one worrying about being too loud for the kids!” Astrid flares. “In the same house, Lucas? In our bed?”
“We never even stayed here,” I remind her, almost laughing.
“But it’s the same mattress!”
“Wrong again. I gave you that house in the divorce, Astrid. Everything inside it is yours. Whether or not you choose to use it is up to you.” In addition to her psychological instability and her tendency toward violence, another factor that helped me get sole custody of the kids was the party girl streak that our separation brought out in her. She was a party girl before, and losing the kids made her into one again. I still hear from our mutual friends that she doesn’t spend many nights at home anymore.
“Don’t be petty, Lucas. It doesn’t look good on you,” Astrid says.
I roll my eyes. It is impossible to fight with her. She’ll never acknowledge a point. She brushes every counter off.
“You’re jealous of Maggie because she’s spending all her time taking care of the kids, and you envy that,” I explain. I only wish it was that simple, though, and I’m hoping to steer the conversation away from the scenario in which I acknowledge that I’ve been sleeping with Sofia. Not with the kids in the den, eavesdropping. Not like this. But Astrid’s jealousy knows no sensible boundary, and she doesn’t need proof. When we were together, merely looking down at my phone was cause enough for a meltdown.
“You’re jealous of her living in this house,” I go on. Brilliant! “And I know you didn’t like to see me touching her arm. But you have to believe me, Astrid.” I take a deep breath and make dire eye contact with her, knowing that it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told to date. “There is nothing going on with me and Maggie. She’s way too young for me. And she’s the kids’ nanny. Give me some respect.”
Astrid slants her mouth to the side. “Yeah, right,” she says, though she seems placated. “We’ll see.”
“Astrid, you look good,” I tell her, meaning it genuinely. I don’t want her to fumble and drop all this progress. We’ve been divorced for a year and separated for two years. It’s very over. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see her successful. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to share custody with her. I would love to trust her with the kids again. “Don’t let a little upset like this derail all your progress.”
Astrid scowls up at me. “I don’t need your help staying on track. And I don’t appreciate the tone.” Tone? “Astrid, you look good,” she imitates in a matronly tone. “Just leave me alone, OK, Lucas? Don’t talk to me about my fucking journey toward healing. Don’t talk to me about how I can and should turn my life all around. You got the kids. You won, big guy. Now you’ve even got the hot nanny who writes letters to her goddamn self. Real brainiac you picked there. Can’t wait to see what kind of bat shit she teaches the kids.”
I want to defend Sofia, but I know better. Defending her would be the same as sleeping with her, in Astrid’s eyes. An upset like that would shatter her fragile, medicated sobriety into a million pieces. So, I shrug.
“What Maggie does with her spare time is none of my business,” I assure her. “She’s great with the kids. She’s had this position for almost a month and they’re both doing better, if anything.”
“Oh, look at Prince Charming, questing to the aid of yet another damsel in distress,” Astrid simpers.
But I won’t let her flip and twist her way through this argument, too. I’m going to make my point and make it deep, damn it.
“It’s thanks to Maggie that I found out about Charlie’s bully.”
“What?” Astrid yelps. “And just when were you going to tell me all this? Or do I not matter at all, as long as the new step-mommy knows everything?”
“Astrid, stop,” I seethe. “I didn’t want to bring it up right in front of him. He’s sensitive about it. But yes, Charlie has a bully. Maggie was just the one who saw everything. Stop. Just stop.”
“At Fallaway Peaks, where you just had to go,” she sneers, completely not hearing my response to her. She marches to the foyer without pausing at the den to see what the kids are doing or if they’re all listening to this conversation, which they probably are. We forgot to watch our pitch a long time ago. It’s only gotten worse as it goes on. “I wanted you to stay in Sacramento, but no, no, there were too many bad memories in Sacramento. Or should I say bad mommeries?”
“Don’t be like this. It wasn’t about you, Astrid.” I follow her to the foyer, pleading with my eyes but with no other part of my body. “You know why I came here. The headquarters were too demanding. I was on the verge of sleeping there. I had to get away, and we never used this cabin. It was going to rot otherwise, and moving up here was a great decision. There are bullies all over the world, Astrid. Charlie was going to encounter one someday. Fallaway Peak isn’t the only place with bullies.”
“Well, he wouldn’t encounter one if he was with me in Sacramento,” she says, shrugging on the trench coat and belting it tightly. I open my mouth to remind her that she hasn’t said goodbye to the kids or even let them know that she is leaving, but then I close my mouth. If Astrid is full-steam in a rant, it’s best to just let her go. Trying to stop her is like waking up a sleepwalker. She can’t even comprehend what the hell you think you’re doing.
“Maybe,” she says, “and I apologize if this blows your mind, but maybe the best place for our kids isn’t the middle of nowhere with some teenaged tartlet their daddy found on the street.”
With that, she throws the front door open and marches onto the porch, slamming the door behind her. But she’ll be back.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
I knew this would happen.
Her guess as to how we met was alarmingly close.
Chapter 25
Sofia
The fight between Lucas and Astrid leaves a heaviness over the house, but it clears quickly enough when she’s gone. The kids forget all her implications about us because they have to. Lucas won’t leave any room for doubt in their minds, as he promises both of them repeatedly that he would never, ever be with the woman he had hired to be their caretaker. Ever.
I listen to it all and nod and smile.
Lucas reassures me repeatedly that he’s saying everything he can to hide our relationship from Astrid, too. This is the way I want it.
I didn’t want them to find out like that, during an argument between Lucas and Astrid. It’s such a sad way to introduce our love to the world.
In my letter, I went on to tell Maggie that I was falling in love, but the situation was new and scary. I’ve never been with a real man before. He’s fifteen years my senior, and he already has two kids and runs his own successful business. I used to manage a store at the mall, for Christ’s sake. I don’t even own a cell phone. I’m a nanny and a wanted criminal. What are we even doing together?
Some days pass and nothing changes. The kids go to school, they come home, and I take care of them. Lucas works. At night, we lock our doors and he sneaks into my bedroom, or I sneak into his. We crawl under the blankets together and make each other come as quietly as possible. It’s a-fucking-mazing.
School will be out for the season in a few days, but before it lets out, there’s going to be a Christmas play. Madison brings home the flyer, and I dutifully take it to the calendar to mark the day. Then I pause.
What is today? Tuesday, the eleventh. The day I’m supposed to get my period. I know because I marked it with a subtle period.
Oh my god.
Today isn’t the eleventh. It’s the eighteenth.
My period was supposed to be last week. The whole kitchen shrinks and spins around me. I’ve got to get a test right now, and I can’t tell Lucas. Even though he loves going into me raw, we never specifically had the conversation about kids. We never talked about kids, and now I’m going to get a pregnancy test.
First, I chug eight glasses of water. I’ve got to get my kidneys moving now. I can’t wait. I have to know.
Fuuuck.
I put on my parka and a knit cap. I jam my hair up into the cap. I cover the cap with the parka’s hood and almost totally hide my face from view with the crowning touch of the scarf. Haha! Identify this, Callahan. “I need to go to the store,” I yell upstairs. Lucas is in his office right now. “I’ll be right back.”
“OK,” Lucas calls down to me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. That was easier than it had to be.
I get to the pharmacy and find the aisle with the pregnancy tests. They’re directly across from the condoms. Very funny, guys.
Snatching up my purchase, I go to stand at the wrong end of a ten-person line, dancing back and forth with a dire need to pee. And that’s when it happens.
A rusted, baby blue Mustang rolls into the parking lot. My jaw drops.
Agent Finn Callahan steps out of the car and stretches, not glancing in the direction of the doors. He has shaggy, faded blond hair and age is only just beginning to melt his face. The pregnancy test in my clutch trembles. Will he recognize me from my eyes? Has a single blond curl escaped? Oh, god, oh, god, what if he can recognize me in spite of everything?
Finn turns toward the doors and saunters in this direction.
OK. OK. Think.
If I run, I’m going to create a huge distraction, and everyone will look at me. Finn will know that it’s me because only a criminal would flail and run away from waiting in a line. I need to keep him from looking too closely at my face. I wish I had a phone. That would be the perfect prop.
Instead, I busy myself reading the back of this pregnancy test.
Mm. Fascinating.
The glass doors coast open, and his cowboy boots click over the tile. I frantically reread the same sentence on the back of this pink package again and again. Easy to read, it says. Easy to read. Easy to read. Easy to read.
Finn sweeps past me and is gone. I let out a long breath. The line shuffles closer to the register.
When I get to the front, I pay the cashier, and she bags my purchase without saying anything, which I appreciate. This moment does not require banter.
“Here you go, dear.” She stretches out the bag for me, but she stretches it too slowly and I snatch it from her, whirling. I’ve got to get the hell out of here. Finn is probably right behind me. I probably look rude as hell. I’m almost in a full jog when I exit.
The automatic doors coast open, and I’m free, in the parking lot again.
I drive back to the cabin with my eyes glued on the rearview. I never see that Mustang. I think I got away with it. I have to pee like crazy, and I might be pregnant with Lucas Gray’s third child, but at least I got away from Finn.
I shove through the foyer, fling my jacket and scarf on a hook, and barely remember to close the door before I bolt up the stairs to take this pregnancy test. It sounds like I’m being chased by a murderer or something.
I slam the bathroom door and lock it on both ends. I rip the box open, and I push my pants down and I squat, finally unleashing with a totally accidental moan of deep satisfaction.
Then I put the plastic tip back on the test and stare down at it intently. Am I pregnant? Wait five minutes and find out.
Chapter 26
Lucas
What is that racket downstairs?
I hesitate and pause the panicked message from my press secretary, only one minute into a four-minute freak-out regarding a typo that somehow made it all the way onto billboards across the country. “GRAYTECH APPS: SECURITY: BLACK AND WHITE,” apparently reads “GRAYTECH APPS: SEXURITY: BLACK AND WHITE.”
It sounds like someone crashed through the front door, slammed it, shed about ten pounds of clothing at warp speed, and then thundered up the stairs and sent another door shut with a bang and a click. Then silence.
I listen for a second longer, then shrug one shoulder and hit play on the voicemail again. He sounds terrified that he’s going to lose his job, and for good reason. Someone will definitely be fired. How is it possible that no one noticed “SEXURITY”?
The men gluing the damn thing up on the billboards probably got a good laugh. Was no one proofing this copy at all? Just because stock got a temporary boost, everybody’s going on vacation. Well, I’m not on—
Downstairs, a door thunders with three loud beats. It’s not the same door that just closed and locked, either.
I should give up and check this out. Heads can roll later.
I leave my voicemail paused and jog downstairs, past the second floor and onto the first.
The front door shudders beneath someone’s meaty fist.
I pull the door open with a scowl. Blustery December air filters into the foyer.
An older man stands stiffly on the porch, hands clasped at his waist. Shaggy blond hair hangs halfway to his face, and he wears a heavy coat, jeans, and leather boots. He’s about ten years older than I am, though it looks like it could also be twenty. I don’t recognize him from this neighborhood.
“Can I help you?” My eyes make it clear that the answer is ‘no.’
“Yes, sir, I hope that you can,” the man says, unclasping his hands to give me a flash of a badge. It happens too quickly for me to trust my own eyes. That thing could be plastic. “I’m Agent Finn Callahan, and I’m in pursuit of a wanted felon.” Shit. “She was last seen in this area weeks ago, where her vehicle crashed and she disappeared into the woods. I believe she may have hitched a ride with a local or even be squatting in a home in this neighborhood. She committed fraud to the tune of over 250,000 dollars.”
And you’re here. You’re watching the house, and maybe you’ve seen her. But you can’t have her.
“I see,” I say, even as my mind works overtime and my jaw draws tight, preparing for a fight. “And you think she might be here?”
“I strongly suspect that she is here. Right now.”
My heart squeezes like a fist. He won’t take her from me. He can’t get past this door. Not without a battering ram and a firearm. I just found Sofia Marshall, and I’m not going to let her go.
I opt for the most classic tactic: playing it dumb.
“Seriously?” Not a single muscle tics. I speak in a practiced tone of disbelief. “Why would you think that?”
“I spotted a woman bearing her description at the pharmacy in town earlier today,” Finn explains to me. “She left the lot in a black Jeep w
ith the license plate VNT-3409. That vehicle is registered to you, Mr. Gray, and I see it parked in your driveway right now.”
My jaw tenses. “Let me see that badge one more time, Mr. Callahan.”
With a roll of his eyes, Agent Callahan pulls out his badge again and passes it to me. I flick it open and examine it more closely. Fraud Investigator: Priority Platinum.
“You’re in the private sector,” I say, flipping the badge shut again and passing it back. “The insurance company pays you to pursue her?”
A smile of victory crawls up Agent Callahan’s lip. “I never said she was wanted for insurance fraud,” he reminds me.
Before I can react in a civilized and thoughtful manner, my fingers are already wrapped around his collar. He thrashes in my grip, surprised by my strength, and I glare down into his face. I forget everything outside of protecting Sofia’s place in my home. “What are they paying you?”
“A finder’s fee of ten percent,” Agent Callahan rasps. His eyes water, but I still don’t release him. He can withstand this pressure. “Twenty-five thousand dollars. Half to start, and half when I bring her back to the state of Ohio. Living expenses while I’m stuck out here.”
“Done,” I snap, releasing him. “I’ll pay you twenty-five thousand dollars right now to walk away and never come back.”
Agent Callahan rubs at his throat and glowers at me, both intrigued and offended. “What the hell are you talking about, man?” His voice has a little squeak to it right now. Adorable. “Is the pussy that good?”
A vein in my forehead bulges and I advance on him, drawing up short from punching him directly in the face.
The thought of a man seeing her that way is repulsive. My lip curls, and my nostril twitches, but I still need him. I need him to willingly turn on his heel and walk away from this house forever. He might not do that if he hates me too much.
“You’re not in this business for the pussy,” I say, “so don’t concern yourself with it.” I step deeper onto the porch, sweeping a congenial arm around his shoulders. “You’re in this for the money.” I drop my voice to a hush, half promise, half threat. “So, take it.”
