Devil You Know(43)

I take my seat to give her an out, and grab hold of the table number. Anything to keep my hands occupied.

“Your father wanted to come, too. I told him that you might feel a little overwhelmed if both of us were here.”

I nod. “Probably.”

“Is he nice?” she asks. “Your friend?”

My eyes shoot up to hers. I guess I didn’t hide Malice as well as I thought, then. “You saw him, huh?”

“I saw you two walking around earlier, but thought I’d let you have your time first.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. I’m not sure what I would say if she asked any more about Malice. Explaining how we met means I have to explain why I left Dylan. I can’t go there yet. I can’t deal with her disappointment, with her hurt, and possibly her anger.

“So, how is Dad?” I cycle the conversation back to her.

She answers politely, like one would a long-lost friend. It suits me just fine. Talking with her is enough, given we haven’t done as much in such a long time. A couple of times she tries to bring the questions back to me, but I deflect, and push them right back. After a while I think she gets the message as she stops asking.

“Do you have your phone on you?” Mom asks. “I’ll give you my mobile number.”

I shake my head. “I left it with Malice.”

Her eyebrow shoots up. “That’s an interesting name.”

“Nickname.”

“Oh.”

“I know the home number,” I appease. “I’ll keep in touch.”

“I know it’s hard, after so long,” Mom says, grabbing my hand. “But don’t be too much of a stranger. We have a lot of missed time to make up for.”

We do, but I can only do so much at once. I should be ecstatic that I’ve reconnected with her, with Dad, but I’m not. The joy is bittersweet, tainted. With the renewed contact come all the emotions I buried for so long as being ‘abandoned’. I can’t turn that stuff off overnight, as much as I’d love to.

We say our goodbyes, and I watch as she walks away until I can’t see her any longer. I feel relief, but at the same time I feel a strange emptiness I can’t pinpoint. The victory is hollow, and all I can think is that my anger toward Dylan for pushing them away, for stopping them from seeing me without my knowledge, is somehow tied into this.

As usual, Dylan manages to ruin whatever joy I should get from life.

Even if he isn’t physically here.





THE SMILE still pulls her mouth wide as we walk into the house, Jane carrying her six bags of clothing. Personally, I’d be happy seeing her with fistfuls of bags, but one step at a time.

“I’m nervous about this,” she confides as she joins me in the living room.

“Why? You look kinda excited to me.”

“I am.” There goes that nod to the left. “But it’s a little overwhelming. I haven’t been out since . . .”

I reach out, and tug her closer while she looks off into space.

“Come to think of it, I can’t be sure when I last went out. The days all roll into one, you know?”

“Sure do.”

Her arms wrap around my middle, and she rests her head against my chest. I like this side of her—a lot.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I don’t respond. Instead, I stroke her hair. The auburn waves fall down her shoulders, so silky, and soft. Her head wriggles against me, and the same fuzzy feeling I get from a dog nuzzling in like that takes me over. I want to hold her, and protect her—gain her trust.

“Where are we going?”

“When?” I ask.

“Tonight, doofus.” She pulls her head back, still holding my waist.

True. One hug, and I forgot I offered her a night out. I just wanted her to have the damn dresses, and it seemed the only explanation at the time that would have her agreeing.

“I’ll find out where the guys are going. We can meet up with them if you like?”

Her eyes spark, and she grins the largest one I’ve seen yet. For whatever reason, seeing the guys has her roaring to go.

“I’d love to.” She lets me go, and I fight the urge to tug her back to me. “Let me go get ready.”

I nod, and watch her hustle up the hallway. We’ve still got a few hours to go, but on the way out of the mall we stopped for her to get some make-up. She told me it was something that fucker wouldn’t let her have. I don’t think she needs it, but I know it’ll make her happy. So I agreed to hang around while she drew all over her hand with lipstick, and read every damn packet there was on the shelf.

In the time it takes her to perfect the application of her war paint, I shower, change, feed Rocco, and make a list of things we need from the supermarket tomorrow. I scroll through the channels on the radio, cursing the fact this fucking house doesn’t have a TV.