Stepbrother Thief(76)

I take several deep breaths to gather myself and open the door a crack.

“May I come in?” Solène asks, as polite as ever, far too mature for her age. I glance over my shoulder at Gill as he lays the holster aside and crosses his arms over his muscular chest. His brows are pinched now, and he just looks sad.

I step back and open the door, allowing Solène to come in, her fingers curled together behind her as she slides across the floor like an ice-skater, skidding along in her black Docs.

“I wish you'd stop fighting,” she says, looking first at me and then at Gill. I open my mouth to apologize, hoping like hell she didn't hear any of the things we said downstairs. I don't want her to have to find out about Gill and me like that. How traumatizing would that be? But, like usual, I'm three steps behind this kid. “Um, if it's about me then I already know, okay?”

“Know what, honey?” Gill asks, his voice softening considerably.

“I found a picture once,” she says and then makes a face, lifting up the front of her shirt and sticking her hands underneath. “It was Regina with a baby inside her. I asked Papa about it, and he said it wasn't his truth to tell, so I figured it out myself.”

I feel the blood drain from my face and before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm sitting on the edge of Gill's bed with my eyes wide open and my lips parted in surprise.

“Anyway, Papa's old, way older than all my friend's parents. Plus, he's Regi's dad so there's no way they'd make a baby together.” She wrinkles her face like she has some idea of what that entails. Holy crap. Did Cliff give her the talk? What age is that supposed to happen at anyway? “And there are lots of pictures in Papa's closet of you two hugging and kissing and stuff.” Solène shrugs. “So I guessed I must be Regina's baby. Besides,” she looks up at Gill and points to her face, “we look alike, you and me. You'd have to be blind not to see it.”

Solène smiles at Gill and me, turns on her heel, and leaves.



“I had no idea she'd made the connection,” Cliff says as I pace back and forth in the living room, hating that Gill's still here, standing on the other side of the couch staring right at me. Just go away and leave me in peace, I think at him, but he doesn't move. I don't even know if he's blinking. “Yes, she found the picture, but I didn't think it was anything to be concerned about.” He chuckles, like this whole situation is hilarious. “Knowing how intelligent she is, I should've guessed.” He shakes his head and takes a sip of the white wine clutched in his right hand.

“When was this?” I ask, wanting to know how long Solène's known but too afraid to ask her myself. Can you believe that? I'm too nervous to talk to my own daughter about all of this. It's too much. The heist, the shootings, Gilleon, this. I can't take it anymore.

“A couple months before this whole thing started,” Cliff says with a grumble, glancing up and to the left, like he can see his son standing behind him. “But if she's not upset about the whole thing, why impress that sort of emotion on her? Everyone handles things in their own way.”

We all pause at the sound of Solène's door. Her footsteps move down the stairs and she pauses, hanging her head over the banister with a sad puppy dog look on her face.

“Am I in trouble?” she asks, and I can't help it. A laugh explodes from my throat before I can stop it. I clamp a hand over my lips and she smiles. “Can I call you Maman now?” I nod but keep my hand right where it is. I'm not sure what expression I'll have when I pull it away. Solène comes down a few more steps and then looks at Gilleon. I feel my heart stop in my chest. “I already call Papa, Papa so I've decided that you can be Père. Will that work for you?”

“It'll work for me,” Gill says softly, his voice rough and unbalanced.

“I realize that this will be a transitionary period for us all,” she continues as I drop my hand and curl over with laughter, the sound bursting from my throat, half in relief and half in shock. I can't help it. It comes and it just won't stop.

“Tu es vraiment quelqu'un d'incroyable, mon petit chou,” I say. You're an amazing person, my little cabbage. Yes, cabbage. It's a French thing. Think of it like sweetheart or something.

“Qu'est-ce qui est si drôle, Maman?” Solène asks, wrinkling up her forehead. What's so funny, Mom? I shake my head, but I can't stop the sound, dropping into the overstuffed armchair to my left. I'm sure everyone thinks I'm crazy right about now, but that's okay. I think we all feel a little crazy sometimes, and if you can't laugh yourself out of a weird, awkward situation like this, then what's left?