"I’m back, though, aren’t I?"
"You are," I confirmed, the words a croak.
"Then you have your answer, don’t you?"
And I did.
It was all I deserved right now, but, when the time came, when I earned it, I knew she’d give me the words I needed to hear.
Knowing her head was aching, I slipped out of the room a few minutes later, finding Cyan sitting in the family room. She was on the floor, her knees to her chest, and I moved beside her.
"You okay, ladybug?" I questioned.
"I didn’t like seeing Mom fighting."
"Thought you’d get a kick out of it."
"She’s always so calm—" She bit her lip. "I guess I like that about her."
Because I understood, I murmured, "I think we both know it’s unusual for her control to break. She and Kendra…" I hesitated. "They’re not friends."
"I remember that lady. I didn’t think I knew who Kendra was, but I do. Why was she here and why did they fight?"
"They went to school together." I stroked the crown of her head, sweeping the messy curls off her sweaty temples. "They never liked each other."
"Were they fighting over you?"
I shook my head. "It’s complicated, honey. I think if there was one person in this world who shouldn’t have picked a fight with your mom, it was Kendra. Today was her unlucky day."
"Is she okay?"
"Yeah. She just needs to sleep it off. Hurts like hell when you get a headbutt wrong."
Her eyes twinkled. "I wouldn’t know that."
I smirked. "You’re a born scrapper, ain’t ya?"
"Maybe. Are we still going to Krav tonight?"
"If you want to."
"I do."
"Then Krav it is. Want something to eat?"
She pulled a face. "Does it have to be soup?"
I hid a grin. "No."
"I ate at the diner but I’m still hungry."
"Want a PB&J sandwich?"
"Yes, please."
I got to my feet and left her to her cartoons, but before I headed out the door, I said, "Your mom will always be your mom, and you can always go to her for whatever problem you have, but you have to bear in mind, honey, she’s a woman too.
"She’s not just your mother. She’s my wife, she’s MC’s friend. We all wear a lot of hats, and it’s normal that you only see her as ‘Mom.’ When she falls out of that pigeon hole, though, don’t be surprised."
I left it at that, not wanting to make her more confused. Well aware that when therapy rolled around, Dr. Janowicz was going to hear some more crap about our family, crap that I loathed sharing but would so long as Cyan benefited from it.
The moment I’d learned Keira was pregnant, I’d vowed to myself that I’d be better than my mom, would be as good as Bear and Rene at the whole parenting thing. I wasn’t sure if I lived up to their standards, but I had to try.
That was all you could do in this life, wasn’t it?
Try your fucking best and hope that it was enough.
Twenty-Nine
Keira
PAST
"Good lord, Keira!" Mom declared as I burst through the front door, her hand clapping her chest. "You scared the heck out of me."
She’d asked me to go along to the church to take some sandwiches to Dad. He was working late this evening, and those were the best nights because I got to stay up a half hour later and watch TV with Mom.
I’d been pleased before, but now I was just…
I felt sick.
"Repent, Marjorie. You must repent your sins!"
Those words, her moans…
Fornication was bad, according to him.
What was worse?
Adultery.
I didn’t like my father, and that had begun a long time ago before tonight. A lot of it was founded in his character, but in other aspects, it was about his hypocrisy.
He preached about turning the other cheek, but he was the first to speak ill of his flock at the dining table.
He talked about being generous, but he never gave the homeless guy who sat outside the coffee shop in town any of his spare change.
I knew his temper was mean, that he drank too much whiskey when the Dolphins played and when that happened, the next day, Mom usually had some bruises to cover up with makeup, I also knew that he didn’t practice what he preached.
But this was just too much to process.
I stared at her a second, then, even though it probably wasn’t wise, blurted out, "Dad was…" I swallowed, then whispered, "…fornicating with Marjorie Winters."
No surprise appeared in her eyes, but she stormed forward and grabbed me by the arm, hard enough to hurt, hard enough that her fingertips pinched as she held me in her clasp. "Did he catch you spying on him?"
"No!" I dragged my arm out of her hold. "And I wasn’t spying. I just overheard them—"
She pressed a finger to her lips. "Don’t say those words out loud again, Keira. Not to me, not to anyone, do you understand?"
I stared at her, bewildered and hurt at her tone. "I don’t understand. How can I? Aren’t you going to—" My mouth worked, but I recognized there was little use in finishing the question. Mom wouldn’t divorce him. Dad wouldn’t allow it. Mom wouldn’t leave him. Dad would beat her first. I bit my bottom lip, then said, "It’s wrong."
Her hand was softer as she reached up and patted my shoulder. "Men have urges, sweetheart. I’m thankful that he takes them out on someone who isn’t me." My eyes flared wide at that, prompting her to tut. "Don’t look at me like that, Keira. It’s his soul on the line, not mine." She firmed her lips. "You’ll understand when you’re married. Men have dirty ways about them, ways that make you feel unclean. The day they find someone else to slew them on is a day worthy of celebrating. Now, I made meatloaf for us. Let’s go eat."
Blankly, I watched her drift down the hall, as calm as you like, her destination dinner.
Her words disturbed me on a visceral level, but my biggest concern was whether she was right or not.
Was sex disgusting?
It looked… Well, on the videos, it looked messy.
Messy enough that even the memory had my nose crinkling with distaste. And the sounds the women made… were they in pain? Were the men hurting them?
Maybe, like Mom said, it was a blessing when a husband stopped wanting ‘that’ from his wife?
Uneasily, I dragged off my coat when Mom barked, "Keira, hurry! It’s getting cold," and I toed out of my UGGs, before retreating to the kitchen.
Dinner awaited me, as did the one show we tended to watch on nights Dad worked late so he couldn’t spew his disapproval at us over it—Private Practice.
As I zoned out while the episode played, I wondered how Dad could judge a TV show when he acted worse than the characters in the fictional series.
But that was the measure of the man, I supposed.
I was right not to trust him.
Thirty