Then I go in search of Miller. I find him in the lounge, seated on the edge of the couch. He has a book in his hands. A black book. And he’s engrossed in the pages.
“Miller!”
He visibly jumps, and the book snaps shut as I hurry over and swipe it from his hand. “Where did you get this?” I ask angrily, holding it behind my back, hiding it… ashamed of it.
“It was tucked down the side of the couch.” He points to the edge, provoking a mental image of me dumping it on the sofa when I last tortured myself by reading a passage. How could I be so careless?
“You shouldn’t have read it,” I spit, feeling the horrid thing burning my hands, as if in a weird sense, it’s coming back to life. I shake that wayward train of thought away before it takes too much more of my attention—undeserved attention. “Reminiscing, were you?” I ask. “Reminding yourself of what you’re going to be missing?” I regret my vicious attack before Miller’s face twists with hurt, even more so when that hurt morphs into anger. That was unnecessary and spiteful. I didn’t mean it at all. I’m lashing out, being unreasonable and cruel to the wrong person.
He slowly rises to his full height, his face falling into his signature impassiveness, and busies himself by pulling at his jacket sleeves before straightening his tie. I’m shifting on my feet, searching my brain for something to redeem myself. There’s nothing. I can’t take that back. “I’m sorry.” I drop my head in shame, resisting the urge to toss the book into the fire.
“You’re forgiven,” he retorts with zero genuineness, striding past me.
“Miller, please!” I reach out to grab his arm, but he dodges me, stealthily removing himself from my reach. “Miller.”
He swings around, physically knocking me back when his fierce eyes land on me. His jaw is pulsing, his chest expanding fast. I wilt under every hard-cut plane of his face and telling sign of his current state of mind. He points directly at me. “Never throw that in my face again,” he warns, beginning to shake before me. “Never! Do you hear me?” He storms out, slamming the door behind him, leaving me immobilized by his raw fury. It’s never before been directed solely on me with such intensity. He looked as though he could smash something to pieces, and while I’d put my life on him never laying a finger on me, I fear for anyone else who may cross his path right now.
“Fuck!” I hear him curse, and then his stamping shoes get closer again. I remain where I am, silent and still, until he’s bursting through the door of the lounge. That finger is pointed at me again, and he’s shaking more than before. “You’ll stay here. Understand?”
I don’t know what happens. Something triggers under his order, and I find myself up in his face before I can weigh the pros and cons of retaliation. I knock his hand out of the way. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
“Don’t push me, Olivia.”
It doesn’t matter that I don’t plan on going anywhere and leaving Nan alone. This is principle. “Fuck off!”
He clenches his teeth. “Stop being so fucking difficult! You’ll stay here!”
I see red, then blurt something that surprises me as much as it clearly surprises Miller. “Did you know?”
Miller’s neck retracts on his shoulders, a scowl settling. “What?”
“Did you know she was back?” I shout, thinking how well he handled the situation. There was no shock. He fell straight into comfort mode, like he was prepared for it. “When I thought I was losing my mind and you talked me down, did you know?”
“No.” He’s adamant, but I don’t believe him. He’ll do anything to lessen my hurt. No one’s speaking. Ted’s shirked me, William has avoided me at all costs until now—now that I know for sure—and Miller virtually threw the phone off his desk to cut the call when Gracie’s name was mentioned. And then I’m thinking about the call from Sylvie, the one telling me about the woman looking for me. Her description. It matches Sophia perfectly, but it also matches my mother. Clarity is a wonderful thing.
Blood burns in my veins. “You told William to keep it from me, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I fucking did!” he yells, startling me. “And I’m not fucking sorry!” Firm palms cup my face, almost aggressively, and squeeze tightly, his nose meeting mine, his eyes penetrating me deeply. “I. Didn’t. Know. What. To. Do.”
I can’t speak; his grip won’t allow my mouth to open. So I nod, feeling emotion take hold—all of the stress, worry, and fear ripping through my vulnerable being. He was trying to shield me from more hurt.