Heroes Are My Weakness(85)
Livia poked her finger into a tiny hole in her jeans.
Annie wasn’t a child psychologist, and the only thing she knew about treating childhood trauma was what she’d picked up on the Internet. This situation was too complicated, and she needed to stop right here. But . . .
Jaycie couldn’t talk to Livia about what had happened. Maybe Scamp could make the topic less forbidden. “A lot scarier than the ocean,” Scamp said. “If I saw my mommy have to shoot my dad with a gun, I would be so scared I might not want to talk either.”
Eyes wide, Livia abandoned the hole in her jeans and turned all her attention to the puppet.
Annie backed off and let Scamp speak in her most cheerful voice. “But then, after a while, I’d get bored not talking. Especially if I had something important to say. Or if I wanted to sing. Did I ever tell you that I’m a magnificent singer?”
Livia nodded vigorously.
A wild idea occurred to Annie. An idea she had no business pursuing. But, what if . . .
Scamp began to sing, bobbing her curly yarn hair to the rhythm of the makeshift tune Annie improvised on the spot.
“A scary, scary thing happened to me.
A thing I want to forget.
Times are good and times are bad,
And that was the baddest yet!
Oh . . . That was the baddest yet!”
Livia remained attentive, not seeming upset, so Annie plunged on with her ridiculous, improvised lyrics.
“Some daddies are good and some are bad
You’re stuck with what you get.
Liv’s dad was bad, the very, very worst
But . . . she didn’t want to see him die, oh!
She didn’t want to see him die.”
Ohmygod! The reality of what she’d just done sent her stomach plummeting. It was like a bad Saturday Night Live skit! The happy little tune, the gruesome lyrics . . . She’d just treated Livia’s trauma as if it were a stand-up comedy routine.
Livia seemed to be waiting to hear more, but Annie was appalled, and she lost her courage. However good her intentions might be, she could be doing serious psychological damage to this precious little girl. Scamp hung her head. “I guess I shouldn’t sing a song about something so terrible.”
Livia studied her, then climbed down off the rock and scurried away to chase a seagull.
THEO FOUND HER AT THE cottage just as she finished giving Hannibal his evening meal. “You’re not supposed to be here by yourself.” He sounded crankier than usual. “Why do I smell wet paint?”
“A little touch-up.” She spoke coolly, determined to reestablish the distance between them. “How did the wound repair go?”
“Not well. Stitching someone up without numbing them first isn’t my idea of a good time.”
“Don’t tell your readers. They’ll be disappointed in you.”
He scowled. “If I’m not here, you need to stay at Harp House.”
Good advice, except that she was experiencing an increasingly powerful urge to be here the next time her perpetrator showed up. This cat-and-mouse game had gone on long enough. She wanted a showdown.
“I refuse to raise a timid child, Antoinette.”
How many of Mariah’s judgments had Annie believed about herself?
“You’re naturally shy . . .” “You’re naturally clumsy . . .” “You need to stop being such a daydreamer . . .”
And then, “Of course I love you, Antoinette. I wouldn’t be concerned about you if I didn’t.”
Living on this bleak winter island so far removed from her city life was making Annie think about herself in new ways. In ways—
“What the hell?”
She turned to see Theo examining the wall she’d painted earlier. She grimaced. “I need to put on a second coat.”
He jabbed his finger at the faint red letters bleeding through the white paint. “Are you trying to be funny? This is not funny!”
“Make up your mind. I can either be funny or scream. Take your pick.” She didn’t feel like screaming. She’d rather punch someone.
He uttered a blistering obscenity, then asked her exactly what she’d found. When she finished, he made his proclamation. “That’s it. You’re moving up to Harp House. And I’m going over to the mainland to talk to the police.”
“A waste of time. Even when somebody shot at me, they weren’t interested. They’ll be even less interested in this.”
He pulled out his phone only to remember he couldn’t get a signal. “Pack up. You’re getting out of here.”
“As much as I appreciate your concern, I’m staying right here. And I want a gun.”
“A gun?”
“Only as a loan.”
“You want me to lend you a gun?”