One is a Promise(56)
The next morning, my sister wakes me at the ungodly hour of nine o’clock with my niece and her husband, David, in tow. I mentioned the previous day that the brakes on the Midget are screeching, and now she’s here to meddle… I mean, fix it. Or rather, make David fix it.
With the car up on jacks in the driveway, he stretches on his back beneath it, grunting and clanking tools. Angel squats in the flowerbed, stabbing Rollie Pollie pillbugs with a stick, while Bree and I drink coffee on the loveseat under the old oak tree.
Bree knows every quarrelsome detail of my time spent with Trace Savoy. After catching her up on the concert, I’m anxious to hear her thoughts. But the slaughter going on behind me makes my skin crawl.
“Tell her to stop doing that,” I say to Bree.
“Angel, leave the bugs alone.”
The hem of my niece’s cute sundress drags through the dirt as she drives the stick down over and over, chanting, “Die. Die. Die.”
“They’re just bugs.” Bree tilts her head, studying her daughter. “That’s normal behavior, right?”
A first-grade teacher is asking me—someone who’s never around children—what I consider normal?
When Angel was born, I thought it was adorable that Bree named her after our family name, Angelo. But if I knew then what I know now, I would’ve given her The Book of Baby Names: The Demonology Edition.
“Yeah, there’s nothing frightening about her at all,” I say dryly.
Bree slumps back on the seat. “Okay, so when you called Trace out last night for being confusing and cryptic, what did he do?”
“He shook his head and walked away, smiling.”
“The smile is new. Sounds like progress.”
“Progress? I thought you were against me getting involved with him.” I lift my coffee mug and find it empty. Damn.
“Jesus, Danni. You blew past involved when you stayed the night at his penthouse.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she sticks a finger in the air.
“Hold that thought. We need more coffee.” She grabs my cup and darts into the house.
Footsteps approach behind me, and I turn, staring into the large brown eyes of a demon.
Angel brushes a wayward hair back toward her pigtails and smiles a toothy fiendish non-smile. “I’m going to eat your head.”
“That sounds…complicated.”
“I’m going to put it on a stick and roast it and eat it with a fork.” She swishes the dress around her knees.
“If you eat my head, we won’t be able to have these creepy conversations.” I shudder.
She lifts a shoulder. “I’ll find other heads to talk to.”
Where does she come up with this shit?
I raise my voice toward the car. “Are you hearing this, David?”
“A little busy,” he yells back.
Yeah, but I know he’s listening, and that’s what I call denial.
Angel skips away, humming Hell’s version of A-Tisket, A-Tasket. I love that kid, but sweet lord have mercy, she scares the crap out of me.
“What’s that look for?” Bree steps out of the house and hands me a warm mug.
“I’ve changed my mind. There’s something really disturbing about your child.”
She blows on her coffee. “She’s just going through a phase.”
Is demon possession a phase?
“So.” Bree regards me, as if revving up for a scolding. “You don’t think you’re involved with this man?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just not going to pursue a relationship with him.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t want one, not with anyone. Least of all with me.” My stomach hardens. “He sleeps around—
“You don’t know that.”
“I see him with women, Bree. And he said he never spends a night alone.”
“He told you that…like three months ago.” She props an elbow on the back of the loveseat, her sharp gray eyes looking straight through mine. “I think he’s waiting for you.”
“That’s ridiculous. Waiting for what?”
Her gaze drops to my engagement ring, and her voice softens. “For you to get over Cole.”
My throat goes dry, and I twist the band on my finger. “It’s been on my right hand since I met Trace.”
“Okay. But can you take it off?” She gives me a small, encouraging smile. “From what you’ve said, it seems to bother him.”
Without letting myself think about it, I work the ring off my finger and slip it into the pocket of my jeans. “There’s your answer.”
My heart thunders painfully, but after a few measured breaths, all is quiet.
“How are we doing?” She rests a hand on my forearm.