by Kira Blakely
“You don’t know me,” Agent Callahan says. His beady blue eyes flash as he looks at me, and then toward the road. Tension runs down his side as he probably realizes how strong I am and subconsciously struggles for freedom. “I might just love justice.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, amused. “I’m not counting on it. Twenty-five thousand dollars can buy a lot of things. You can go home again. Have a life again. Is there any good pussy back home, Agent Callahan? Give the company a false lead and let Miss Marshall live in peace. Tell them that you lost her on the Interstate.”
“It’s not that easy,” Agent Callahan warns me. He shakes his head, and his eyes shift away from me, then back again. He lowers his voice and sucks his lower lip in, then lets it fall back out. “Cash?”
“Cold, hard,” I agree with him. That’s what he wants to hear, and I’ve got all that and more in a safe in my office. Honestly, if he bartered for fifty, he could get it, but no one ever believes that, even though Fallaway Peak is the kind of middle of nowhere place that a man could safely keep a safe of cash.
But Agent Callahan scoffs. “You don’t have twenty-five grand in cash.”
“You don’t know that.” My eyes harden. I’m tired of going back and forth with this old man. He wants it, and I’m done flirting. I squeeze his shoulder. “Are you interested or not?”
“I’d be a fool not to be.” Rolling his tongue around in his mouth and nodding to himself, Agent Callahan breaks out in a sudden grin. “All right, let’s see it. Give me this so-called twenty-five grand.”
I nod and go back into the cabin, running upstairs to my office. I’m on the second landing when I see Sofia, eyes wild and wide, sagging against her bedroom door. I freeze, and she freezes, too, our eyes on each other.
“Hey,” I breathe, feeling caught. “What are you up to?”
“Not much,” Sofia pipes. “You?”
“Work.” I nod and wave goodbye to her, hurrying up the next flight of stairs and dipping into my study. I open the safe and pull out three ten stacks. They’re much lighter and smaller in my hands than they seem like they should be. Money has seemed light and small to me for a long time now, though. Unless we’re talking about millions, the weight of a few thousand don’t really register.
And Sofia Marshall is worth more than three of these stacks to me.
I don’t pass Sofia on the stairs or see her downstairs, so I take a quick look from one shoulder to the other and then duck out onto the porch and return to the bitter air and the bundled investigator, watching me like he doesn’t believe for one second that I’ve got this cash in my hand.
“Thirty grand,” I tell him, slapping its full weight down into his hands, one stack after the other. Bam. Bam. Bam. “An extra five thousand in good faith for your word as a man.”
“My word as a man,” Agent Callahan repeats, flipping through the stacks, as if they might turn into lavender-colored Monopoly money halfway through. He flips each stack back and forth twice, nodding slowly and staring down at it.
“All you need to do is tell your boss that she’s gone, and you never could find her. You get on with your life. She gets on with hers. Everybody wins. Nobody knows.”
Agent Callahan’s eyes flick to mine, and he licks his dry lips slowly, like a lizard, then slides the stacks into an interior jacket pocket. “All right,” he whispers. “I’ll go.” His eyes linger, and he shakes his head with a little chuckle of chagrin. “You’re crazy, though,” he tells me, wagging a finger and descending the porch steps.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
Agent Callahan shakes his head again, then turns on his boot and crunches through the driveway, back to his rusted-out blue Mustang. He throws the door open and ducks inside. He doesn’t give one more look to me, or to the cabin, and my heart lightens. All the drama might be over for a while.
As soon as I open the front door and slide inside, Madison is at my back, glaring up at me. “Who was that?” she asks.
“Nobody,” I reply, closing the door and sliding the deadbolt into place.
* * *
Sofia usually makes dinner, but when I come down into the kitchen, she’s standing at the counter, gazing around like she’s lost. Her hair is loose but tied back with a colorful bandana, and her makeup is sparse. Are her lips normally so pale? She seems almost sick, dressed in an uncharacteristic pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Maybe I’m not used to seeing her without some little heels or a layer of lip gloss, though.
“Hey there,” I venture, and her gaze flicks to me.
“Hey,” she breathes. There’s a bowl of raw hamburger meat in front of her, and it looks like she was grinding spices into it, but now she’s peering down like it’s the most daunting task she’s ever been assigned. Her breathing is long and low, like a woman in labor. Her hands shine with hamburger grease. “Prepping some burgers for dinner.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling OK?” I have to ask. “You look piqued.”
Sofia exhales again, like she might throw up. She doesn’t say anything, and then finally tears her focus from the spot on the wall where they have been lingering. She blinks up at me with hopelessness. Is this situation really that bad? So, she’s a little nauseated working with raw meat. That could happen to anyone. “I think I’m sick,” she breathes. “Would you mind taking over tonight?”
“Not at all, baby.” I let it slip and then wince. “Maggie,” I correct myself.
Sofia smiles, but the smile is weak. “Thanks.”
She hobbles over to the sink to rinse and lather her hands. I watch her every move, my concern only growing. I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to worry about the price on her head as much anymore, that the investigator Platinum Priority hired has been paid off and sent packing. But I don’t. She looks so haggard right now, I think even good news would be met with the same limp smile and nod.
“Just get some rest,” I tell her instead, pausing to loop an arm around her hip as she shuffles past. I press a kiss to the side of her head and then quickly release her. I don’t want the kids to see, and even that small gesture was irresponsible of me. “Do you think you’ll want a burger for yourself or no?”
“Augh, no,” Sofia says, belching softly as if sickened by the mere suggestion. “But thanks.”
I watch her drift away then slowly pull herself up each stair, one by one. I can’t hide the worry on my face. We’re going to have to figure out what’s wrong.
Chapter 27
Sofia
I never do make it back downstairs after Lucas gives me that reprieve from cooking the hamburger. I cannot stand the smell of anything too savory, particularly in the evening. I end up lying in bed, nauseated and overheated, praying that the feeling will abate. According to my secret Internet research, it probably will—next trimester.
The positive pregnancy test is in the bathroom trash, strategically buried under layers of wadded up toilet paper.
I’m going to tell him. I just don’t know when. Or how.
Or what the hell we’re going to do.
The mornings aren’t too bad for me, and I can’t keep hobbling around like a seasick cow, so I force myself to get up at six, as usual. It’s the last day of school before Christmas vacation, and both Madison and Charlie are obnoxious with excitement, bouncing around in the backseat like toys with no off switches. It’s only going to be a half day, and the day after tomorrow—Saturday night—will be the middle school’s Christmas play, in which Charlie is a broken soldier on the Island of Misfit Toys. He walked out to the Jeep like he was made of wood, and now he practices his lines, both of them, in the car on the way.
“I’m a soldier with a bent gun!” he cheers. For now, he’s forgotten his bully and the Christmas season gives everyone a little extra sparkle in their eyes. “No one will ever want me!”
We pull up to the school and I park. He shoves the back door open and clambers out of the backseat.
“Good luck out there,” I call to him, sticking a peace sign again
st the passenger side window. “See you at noon.”
“Bye, Maggie!”
I watch as Charlie rushes into the building with his bulging backpack, hoping that he does have a good day. Then I circle the Jeep back around and cut through Fallaway Peak, stopping when I notice a maternity store for the first time. I go inside and ogle the various dresses and blouses, the special bras and the special lotions and all the products for the perfect new mother, wondering if I could really do this. I can’t even picture it.
I accidentally kill way too much time inside Mama 2 B and have to hurry back to the cabin if I want any lunch prepared for the kids when they get home. Lucas, embroiled in yet another random outcropping of incompetence—something about a typo on a billboard—stays up in his office and I’m back out the door and in the Jeep to pick the kids up before he ever sees me.
It’s good this way, because I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep my pregnancy from him, anyway. I can barely stand to look at him now without blurting the words.
I collapse into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, thankfully out of that bitter cold, and turn the engine over to get the heat pumping. I’m huffing hard into my cupped hands as I stare at the house, shivering. All the windows are lit with warm yellow light, just like they were the first time I ever saw this place, and it brings me to pause. I manage a little smile as I remember. It seems like that rainy November afternoon was so long ago, it came from another world entirely.
I wonder what the hell I’m going to do. What am I going to do? This wasn’t the plan.
A light snow falls across the windshield, flakes of white kissing the glass and then skittering away. My hands fold over my abdomen, and I press my lips together, thinking about everything at once. The little life inside me, probably the size of a grain of rice right now. My eyes pan to the third-story window of Lucas’ office. A shadow crosses the lit blinds and a tiny smile twitches at my lip. Will he be happy? Could we be a new family?
Astrid’s face floats in my mind’s eye, along with Agent Callahan’s, and I figure that I’m probably a dreamer. But I’ve never had a child in my body before, and it doesn’t matter what the outside world harbors against us. Me and this baby, with or without Lucas, will be fine. Even if I’m having it in jail.
The front door opens, and Lucas comes traipsing out, startling me. He’s in a thick olive coat, a black turtleneck, jeans, and boots. He beams at the sight of me and jogs to catch the Jeep before I can pull out, even though my hands are nowhere near the gears right now anyway.
Lucas taps at the window, and I obediently roll it down for him.
“Hey,” I say, hoping that he can’t read my crazy mixed thoughts on my face. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, I was heading downstairs for some coffee and I caught a glimpse of you in the window, sitting here in the driveway. I never got to see you again after you went upstairs, all sick. You feel better?”
“A little,” I say. It’s half-true. I do feel better. I also won’t technically feel better for another eight months. “Hey. Can we talk when I get back?”
Lucas cocks his head to the side, and the skin around his coffee-dark eyes crinkles. “Of course,” he says, like the question is confusing. “We can always talk, Sofia.”
He stretches his hand into the cabin of the car and rubs his icy thumb over my warm cheek. I exhale, unable to stop the butterflies from going nuts all through my body. I want him so bad, still. What will he say when he learns the big news?
“OK,” I breathe, and he takes his hand away again, eyes sparkling. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
“OK.”
I put the car into reverse and back out of the driveway, jostling along the road, trying not to psych myself up for the big talk. I hope he doesn’t ask me to get an abortion. I couldn’t take that.
I go to the middle school first this time, because Charlie gets bullied, and I don’t want him to wait any longer than he has to. I climb out of the Jeep and head toward the mass of tweens all thronged up at the entrance, filling the sidewalk.
I furrow my brow and scan for Charlie’s flaxen hair, always sticking out in a crowd. That’s him over there, isn’t it?
And then his blond head vanishes, and I pick up the pace, panic surging in my chest. “Charlie!” I call out to him. He’s on the sidewalk, on his back, pinned to the ground by his bulging backpack.
I go to help him up, but before I even get there, he slides his arms through the nylon straps and jumps back onto his feet. The freckled, dark-haired boy looms over him, several inches taller with eyes narrowed with aggression. Charlie mentioned this kid: Rufus. His tormentor.
“You’d better stop that,” Charlie commands, gruffly, reminding me of his father. He draws himself to his full height, and his eyes don’t dare dart away from his target.
The dark-haired boy smiles, but the smile looks cruel. “Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Rich Boy, sir,” Rufus sneers. “Anything you say.”
Charlie looks his assailant up and down, then turns on his heel and takes a step away, toward me.
“But before you go,” Rufus adds, snatching at Charlie’s arm. “Have a nice trip!”
Rufus puts his leg out in front of Charlie and moves to shove him, but Charlie grabs the bully’s arm with both of his, and the momentum sends both tumbling to the ground. He plants a solid punch—just like Lucas taught him—into his bully’s gut. The boy flounders and gasps for breath.
Meanwhile, Charlie struggles to his feet and scoops up his backpack, then he walks over to me, a triumphant little smile on his face.
“You’re going to regret that, rich boy!” Rufus sneers at his back, clambering up to his feet. Charlie doesn’t give him even enough credit to turn and look at him, but I see Rufus charging behind us and I whirl, placing myself firmly between my charge and this charging bully.
“He doesn’t call you poor boy, does he?” I wonder, evenly. “Maybe you should return the kindness of learning his name. It’s Charlie.”
“Ooh, Charlie has a new stepmom, everybody!” Rufus jeers. “Do you go to school here, or are you in high school now?”
My mouth sours, and I think about how easy it would be to punt this kid across the parking lot, but I don’t. I shake my head and turn my back. “I’m his nanny,” I explain over my shoulder, following Charlie to the car. I don’t want to make things any harder for him than they already are.
Rufus makes kissy noises at our backs as we climb into the Jeep.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Charlie tells me with a proud little smile. Even though we didn’t leave Rufus in a cowering bundle, we know Charlie still came out on top. Now Rufus knows that he can and will defend himself. “He’s like that with everybody.”
“Everybody but you,” I remind him, laying my palm in the air for a low-five. “Nice punch back there, kiddo.”
Chapter 28
Lucas
I usually can’t hear the kids get home from school, but today it seems as if they arrive with a caterwaul, blowing noisemakers. It’s still not enough to draw me from my stupor. It’s the mild tap at my office door, minutes later, which rouses me from my thoughts.
I’m holding a ballpoint pen that has left a big splotch of black ink on my ledger, but I have no recollection of what I wanted to write. My mind drifted without my consent, which never happens. What does Sofia want to talk to me about?
I jerk the leaking pen from off the paper. I plink it down into a pen holder and consciously exhale, loosening my shoulders and trying to let the tension flow from my body. Is it possible that she already knows Agent Callahan is gone? Did she see me pay him off? What if this is her opportunity to flee Fallaway Peak?
“Come in,” I call, and the door slowly opens.
Sofia pokes her head in with a meek smile. She’s wearing a hoodie, coat, jeans, and boots, her cheeks and her eyes bright from the snowfall. Her hair is a halo of flyaway wisps around her head. “Am I interrupting?” she asks.
“No, no, no. Come on in.” I
stand from my office chair and saunter around the desk, meeting her in the middle of the room and gesturing to the sofa pushed against the side of my wall. “Is everything all right? I’m not going to lie—the phrase ‘we have to talk’ has never ended well for me, or anyone else that I know.”
I settle onto the sofa with Sofia and clasp her frigid hands in mine. She peers back at me with her wide cat eyes and a forced smile.
“Charlie punched his bully today,” she says, and I blink at her. An instinctive smile spreads across my lips. I am proud, even though she’s stalling.
“That’s great,” I breathe. “Good. That’s how you have to do it.” I pause and pry at her again with my gaze. Her eyes tilt away. Is she ashamed? Afraid? “But that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?”
“Err, no,” she confesses. Sofia clears her throat and tries again to broach this difficult topic. “First, I want to say that…” Her eyes drift to the floor, and she pulls in a deep, shaking breath to steady herself. She tries again. Is she going to cry? “I want to say that these past few weeks have been amazing. I have no regrets.” When her eyes flick back up to mine, they do shine with tears that she won’t let fall. My brow furrows, and I squeeze her cold hands inside my warm ones, like I might be able to fix this just as easily.
“Sofia, what’s going on?” I ask, my tone less gentle and more commanding.
“Look. I’m pregnant.” The words come out in a rush, and they suck all the air and the gravity out of the room with them when they go, leaving me hanging in space. Pregnant. For a few seconds, there’s nothing but that word—I can’t even see Sofia sitting right in front of me anymore, all I hear is this echo chamber—and then gravity comes crashing back. Pregnant.
