Season of Change(3)

                “Slade, we don’t have a key. Not to that house.” Derision dripped from every syllable, bringing back too many memories of the hot-tempered, entitled woman he’d divorced.

                Aren’t whirlwind college romances swell?

                But her contempt goaded him into a decision he’d most likely regret later—to have the girls stay at the house with him. “We don’t lock the doors here, Evy.”

                “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

                He did. He winked at the girls.

                They didn’t smile or laugh or give any indication that they appreciated being included in his inside joke. That was probably his punishment for only seeing them twice a year. When they were older, they’d understand why their mother kept them away and why Slade didn’t press as hard as he should for visitation.

                Slade opened the back door so the twins could get out.

                Up close, it was even worse. Black lipstick, black eyeliner, black lace blouses over yellow-and-black-plaid capris. He hoped to heaven the short blond hair with thin black streaks were wigs.

                Two silent strangers slid out. A far cry from the plump, happy babies he used to rock to sleep. Or the grinning, sturdy two-year olds that he used to push on swings.

                Good thing he’d been hanging out with Flynn and his seven-year-old nephew the past month or he wouldn’t have a clue how to deal with them. He tousled Faith’s hair. She was the twin with a dimple that rarely disappeared on her cheek, even when she frowned at him and straightened her wig. Grace came to stand next to her. They stared at him in wordless retribution.

                Ten. Crap. He’d thought teenage angst started at thirteen.

                “You’ll be all right, won’t you, girls?” Evangeline waited for their nods before she commanded, “Get their things, Slade.”

                Her attitude was starting to cinch his collar, but it didn’t make sense to argue.

                Their things included four huge suitcases, three Nordstrom shopping bags, two identical backpacks with angry manga characters, and one stuffed lion the size of a large dog.

                Slade dutifully loaded it all into the bed of his new black truck, giving himself and the girls a pep talk. “We’re going to have a good time, aren’t we?”

                No one answered.

                Evangeline reeled each girl in with one hand for fierce hugs. “You be good like I told you and you’ll be safe.” She gave Slade a sharp look that could have cut metal. “I’m trusting you with my babies.” She named the date she wanted them back in New York, as if his daughters were on loan.

                Since they’d separated eight years ago, he’d wanted to spend more time with the twins than his twice-a-year visits. The new settlement had given him hope. He’d pictured happy vacations to amusement parks and sunny beaches. He’d imagined laughter and enthusiasm and emotional hugs. He’d dreamed of having them for a day, a weekend, a week.

                And here was reality: his girls had misplaced fashion limits, stared at him mutely, and there were nearly thirty days looming ahead like a prison sentence.

                * * *

                DAY ONE ON the job and Christine Alexander was late.

                That didn’t mean she expected to show up for work and see a glamorous-looking woman doing the tiptoe run around a black SUV in skyscraper heels, or a pair of identical little Goth girls. Not this far away from civilization. Not outside an anime film. Not at her place of employment.