by Megan Hart
Effie pressed her lips together. “How do you know?”
“Because they made a report,” Bill said as if she was stupid. “She admitted to it. She signed her fucking name to the report, and the two of them went off together making fucking goo-goo eyes all over the place, I almost had to arrest them both for public indecency.”
“Oh.”
Bill put his hands on his hips. “Yeah.”
“Well,” she said after a moment. “You still think it’s okay to judge a woman based on what she’s wearing.”
“Everyone does that!”
“Does that make it okay?” she shot back. “You think it’s all right to catcall a girl as she walks down the street because she decided to put on a pretty dress today that had nothing to do with you? And if she answers you, she’s a slut, and she’s a whore bitch if she doesn’t.”
Bill looked utterly stunned. His mouth opened, then shut. Opened again.
“The fuck is wrong with you tonight? I was talking about how you like it sometimes when I talk dirty to you, Effie. You asked me to! And it’s hot, sometimes, sure, but I didn’t really mean... Dammit. A guy can’t get a break. You want us to notice you when you look good, and if we don’t, you get all bent out of shape.”
“I’m just saying, what if that was your daughter walking down the street?” she said abruptly and clamped her mouth shut before she could totally lose her shit all over him.
“But I don’t have a daughter,” Bill said as though that made it all okay.
Effie let out a long, slow breath. “Right.”
Bill took a step closer to her but stopped and put his hands up when she bristled. “Right, okay. So what the hell is all this about?”
“If you ask me if I’m on my period, I swear to God I will punch you in the junk.”
Bill laughed. “Uh-huh. See? Totally okay for a chick to threaten violence, but not a dude. Yep. That’s equality, all right.”
“Thanks for letting me suck your dick. And for dinner.” She lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll get out of here.”
“Fine. Whatever. You’ll do what you want to do. You always do.”
Effie frowned. “So do you. Don’t act like you don’t.”
“Look, let’s not fight. Okay? I feel like shit enough as it is. I wanted you to come over because I...wanted to see you,” Bill said with a brief hesitation. “Not so we could circle each other like fucking feral cats. I wanted to see you.”
“I’m here,” Effie said.
After a second, Bill reached for her. This time, she let him pull her closer. Her head fit neatly under his chin. Against his broad chest, she could rest her cheek and feel the thumping of his heart. She could put her arms around him and let him hold her. She could, if she wanted to, pretend she loved him.
But she didn’t.
She let him hold her anyway. Bill had been there when she needed him more than once. She could be there for him now.
With her face still pressed to his bare skin, she finally asked him the question that had been burning in her mind since she’d first heard it was possible, no matter how many times she’d tried to rationalize it away. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Bill asked and pushed her away to look into her face. Then he looked guilty. “It’s really unlikely he’ll get out, Effie. You know that.”
“You did hear! And you didn’t tell me?” Effie backed up and cupped her elbows, forcing herself not to make fists or to pace. “Dammit, Bill. You told me you’d always tell me if you heard anything about him.”
“It’s one of those things. He’s up for parole, he’s ancient, he has people making appeals for him.” Bill took his plate to the sink.
Effie frowned. “But...he won’t get out.”
“I don’t think so, no.” Bill looked over his shoulder at her. “It’s just something that comes up every so often. It has before, and it’s been okay. It will be all right this time, too.”
When she didn’t say anything, he wiped his hands on the dish towel and came over to her. His big hands took her gently by the shoulders. He looked into her eyes.
“If I hear anything otherwise, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, it’s all just rumors. Soccer moms getting bent out of shape so they have something to gossip about.”
“You’re not responsible for protecting me, you know,” she told him.
Bill shrugged. “I’m responsible for protecting everyone. It’s my job.”
He was good at it. Being a cop. Neanderthal attitude aside, Bill cared very much about keeping the world safe.
“You don’t have to worry about him. I promise,” Bill said.
How could she explain that she wasn’t worried? Not in the way anyone would expect. She wasn’t thirteen anymore, and Stan Andrews was an old man. Even if Daddy got out of prison, he wouldn’t come for her. She was too old now, to be his little girl.
“He deserves to rot and die in there, that’s all,” she said. “For what he did to us.”
“Right. The two of you. You know your boyfriend got picked up for drunk and disorderly, right? He got in a fight over at the Shamrock. Punched a wall, and also Dickie Alonzo. He was with Sheila Monroe. Apparently, he punched Dickie for impugning Sheila’s honor.” Bill paused as though to gauge Effie’s reaction to that, but she had none.
Sheila Monroe was both the town drunk and the town pump and had been forever. She had no honor. But Heath did. What Heath did with her was complicated and none of Effie’s business. Also, she’d long ago stopped correcting Bill when he referred to Heath as her boyfriend. She was never sure if Bill knew she and Heath still fucked on occasion. She’d never actually admitted to Bill that she’d ever fucked Heath at all.
“I didn’t. But you just couldn’t wait to tell me. Could you?”
“I thought you’d like to know, that’s all. If he’s not careful,” Bill said, “he’s going to end up in prison right alongside his Daddy.”
For a moment, all she could see or hear was the blank, wretched noise of her own beating heart. She was aware of the chair clattering to the floor behind her as she whirled. Of the rattle of plates and silverware on the table. Then Bill had her in his arms, gripping her tight with his good arm while she struggled.
“Don’t touch me,” Effie said.
Bill let her go. “I’m sorry. It’s the pain meds. They make me say dumb shit.”
“You are a dumb shit,” Effie said. “Jesus, Bill.”
Bill didn’t look sorry. He looked as if he scored a point off her in some game only he’d known he was playing. Effie headed for the front door.
“You don’t have to worry about that guy, Effie, I told you that!” Bill called after her.
Effie flipped him the finger and slammed the door behind her.
chapter seventeen
Mitchell had lost his phone, and it had taken him a while to get a new one set up. Warily, Effie had accepted this excuse because, besides seeing a small green circle next to his name on a dating site when they’d never even skated close to talking about exclusivity, she had no reason to think he was jerking her around. Because if she wasn’t going to take a chance and trust someone, why the hell should she bother trying at all?
He really was a nice guy. Normal. He did wear khaki pants and a polo shirt and his hair was rumpled, but adorably so. He had rimless glasses that somehow made him cuter than he ought to be. A nice, normal man without a dark past who wrote computer programs for a living and didn’t seem bothered that she listened more than she spoke.
She was going to try this, Effie thought firmly as she and Mitchell exited the movie theater. She was going to figure out this dating thing, once and for all, and she was going to do what she’d told Heath she was doing. Moving forward with her life.
“I thought the mo
vie was pretty good,” Mitchell said.
Effie eyed the smokers gathered around the ashtray to the side of the theater doors and craved a cigarette fiercely. Wouldn’t she always? It was one of those habits you could quit but never really leave behind. “It was violent.”
“Oh.” Mitchell paused to give her a sideways glance. “I’m sorry?”
She laughed and, on impulse, linked her arm through his. “No, it’s fine. I like that sort of thing. Guns and fast cars, hot women. It was a perfect date movie.”
“I thought for sure you’d pick that other one.” Mitchell looked pleased at the contact of her hand on him, his step falling in time with hers. “I’d have gone with that one, if you wanted.”
“Of course you would. You’re a gentleman.” Effie spoke sincerely but lightly, testing him.
Mitchell smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”
He eased them around a puddle on the sidewalk in front of them. She noticed that. Also how he switched sides to be between her and the street. He relinked their arms, keeping her close. She liked that, too, though while other women might’ve giggled, flirting, she kept her gaze on the path in front of them.
“It’s been three dates and you haven’t even tried to kiss me,” she continued as though it didn’t matter.
At that, Mitchell stopped, but slowly. He turned her to face him. There on the sidewalk in front of the empty storefront that had once been the local hardware store, he pulled Effie close and kissed her lightly on the mouth.
“Better?” he asked.
She hadn’t even had time to close her eyes. It wasn’t terribly romantic, but it was horrifyingly sweet. It made her want to kiss him back, to force his mouth open with hers and push inside it with her tongue. She didn’t. She smiled, though, ducking her head in what appeared to be coyness but was really a way to keep from laughing in his face. There were lots of ways to hurt someone, and that wasn’t the way she wanted to do it.
“Effie, I really like you.”
Of course he did. He had no idea who she really was. If he did, wouldn’t he run screaming down the street?
“I like you, too, Mitchell.”
“Can I take you for coffee, maybe some dessert? Do you have to get back to your daughter?”
“She’s with my mother. Coffee sounds amazing.” Shivering, Effie looked up at the sky. No stars. It smelled like snow. To kiss him again, she pushed up on her toes, but only a little, because Mitchell was only an inch or so taller than she was.
This time, the kiss lingered. Open mouths. Tongue. It was better than the first time. When she pulled away, he looked a little dazed. His mouth wet and slightly open. She didn’t kiss him again but waited to see if he’d go for it.
He did and, gentleman or not, his hands wandered to her hips, pulling her closer. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into the taste of him. Her breath caught. It was easier than she’d thought it would be, she thought before it ended and she had to open her eyes to look up at him. Mitchell looked up to the sky, then glanced back to her with a grin.
“It’s starting to snow.” He held out his arm to show her the small flakes on his dark coat sleeve.
“Oh,” Effie said. “Pretty.”
“Not as pretty as you,” Mitchell said, and she wanted to laugh at that, too, because he had no idea, did he? All he saw was her face and her body, and yes, Effie knew that she was pretty. The problem was not those outside bits but what was inside her, and so far, Mitchell saw only the outside.
For the first time in forever, Effie was glad of that, of still being a stranger to someone who thought she was nice and pretty and normal, too.
“There’s a great place a block over. They have amazing chocolate cake. How about you take me there?” she said.
And he did.
chapter eighteen
Heath had shown up with a casserole in a thermal bag and a fancy salad in a bowl. He also brought a bottle of white wine and a two-liter bottle of Coke. Why? Because he somehow knew, as he always did, when Effie was up to her ears in work and hadn’t had time to cook a full meal in days. Okay, for about a week. She and Polly had been eating leftover pizza and frozen french fries. Effie, as she always did while caught up in a project, had demolished a case of ramen noodles and a dozen mini cans of Pringles chips. She liked them because you could tip out the entire sleeve of chips onto a plate and see every single one before you ate them.
Breathing in the scent of chicken, garlic, broccoli and butter, Effie grinned. “Ohmigod, fresh vegetables. Did you make this at work?”
“Yeah.” He pulled out the casserole and set it on the stovetop, then found a serving spoon and dug it into the steaming contents. He gave her a look. “It’s not rice. It’s couscous.”
Effie paused for a second before saying, “I’ve been eating rice.”
“No shit. Since when?” Heath turned with a goggle-eyed look.
“I don’t know. A few weeks.” Effie shrugged and tried to blow off the conversation, but Heath snagged her elbow until she looked at him. She wasn’t going to tell him that she’d been seeing Mitchell, that Mitchell liked rice and that she’d finally done with the food what she’d done with the dates. Given it a chance.
“I made this myself and watched everything that went into it,” he told her.
Effie nodded and pushed onto her tiptoes to give him a hug that didn’t linger. Her fingers stroked down his back once, twice, before she pulled away. “I trust you.”
For a moment, all he did was stare. Then a small smile twisted his mouth. She thought he might kiss her, but Heath only went back to setting out the food he’d brought while Effie watched.
“You need a haircut,” she told him.
He looked at her over his shoulder. “After dinner? Will you?”
“If you want to look like a shorn sheep.” She laughed and shook her head, but Heath was serious. Effie sighed, pretending to be annoyed, though secretly she was pleased he came to her for things like that.
Polly, without being asked, had set the table. She was being too quiet, something Effie noticed but hadn’t yet approached her about. She suspected it had something to do with the sleepover party Polly had been at last night. So far, Polly hadn’t talked about the party, but she’d been sleeping all day since Dee had dropped her off at ten this morning.
“Pollywog, get me a beer, would you?” Heath shrugged out of his battered canvas jacket and hung it on the hook next to the kitchen door. His hook. Nobody else ever used it.
Why Effie should think of this now, she couldn’t say, except that she hadn’t noticed how empty the rack looked without his coat on it. She shoved that thought aside and focused on getting out the plastic containers of chopped fruit and veggies with ranch dressing from Heath’s bag.
“I got lemon bars for dessert.” Heath’s gaze swept her up and down. He put out one long arm to turn her slightly, side to side, then nodded.
Effie put her hands on her hips. “What?”
“You’re looking good.”
“Chubby, you mean.”
“Too many dates,” Heath said. “All those fried appetizers.”
Effie knuckled his upper arm. Heath grabbed her to hold her off, then tickled her ribs until, squealing and breathless, Effie tossed up her hands. She looked to see Polly watching them with a small yet somehow humorless smile. Carefully, Effie extracted herself from Heath’s grip.
“It looks good on you,” Heath said. If he noticed anything off about Polly, he wasn’t showing it. He took the beer the girl handed him and cracked off the top to take a long swig. When he let out a low, rumbling belch, Effie and Polly both gave disgusted cries. Heath patted his belly and gave Polly a wink. “Better out the attic than the basement.”
Usually Polly would’ve giggled at that, but today she gave him only a faint smile and
took her place at the table. Effie hadn’t raised Polly with any kind of religion beyond secular observances, but a few years ago she’d decided to pray before meals. What Polly said or whom she said it to, Effie didn’t know, because Polly always did it in silence. Today, though, she held out her hands. One to Heath, who took it at once. One to her mother, who hesitated.
“It won’t kill you,” Heath said.
Polly looked expectant. Effie frowned but linked her fingers with her daughter’s. Polly bent her head. Effie waited for her to speak, but she prayed as she always did, without words. A few seconds passed, and in the quiet, Effie looked across the table at Heath. Their eyes met.
He smiled at her.
In that moment, there was nothing else in the world for her. This, the two people Effie loved most in the world, at her table. They were a family. In that moment, she couldn’t imagine anything other than this.
Sister, Brother, Daddy. Here we are. Isn’t this nice? All of us together, a family.
The memory reared up, twisted and ugly, and Effie jerked away from it physically, knocking over her wineglass. Liquid spread across the table and she jumped up to grab a towel, grateful for the chance to hide her face from Heath, who would’ve looked at her and known something was wrong. He did give her a curious glance as she blotted the spill with an airy, forced laugh at her clumsiness, but he didn’t say anything, and when he tried to help her, she shooed him away.
“I got it.” When he tried again, she snapped at him. “I said I got it.”
He backed off.
“My friend says she’s going to grow beans,” Polly said when the conversation turned to her science project.
“Can you do something that doesn’t involve taking care of any living thing?” Effie got up to pour herself a new glass of wine and brought another beer for Heath. “No peeps, no beans. How about that diet cola and mints experiment? That looks like fun.”
