Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I’ve lived in the public eye my entire life, and believe me, it will matter to you and to your grandparents, the things they’ll say about her. They will turn every memory of your mother upside down, invade her privacy in search of more dirt. People you thought you could trust will sell lies about her and you. Within hours of finding out, that cul-de-sac will be filled with vans and cameras.” He casts a hand toward the bay window and the street beyond it. “You won’t be able to leave this place without cameras shoved in your face. It’ll be a nightmare for you and your grandparents. And the things your neighbors and friends will say about Audrey?” Henry’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead in warning.
If he’s trying to scare her, I think he’s succeeded. Even I’m holding my breath.
Violet’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. “I haven’t told anyone—”
“Good. Don’t.”
“I won’t!” Fresh tears spill. “You’re just the sperm donor. I don’t want you in my life. I hate you!” The last words are delivered in a shriek as she storms off down the hall. A moment later, a door slams.
Henry hangs his head.
“That went well.” Howard lifts his glasses to rub his eyes.
Gayle takes a step in the direction her granddaughter went, then stalls, as if reconsidering. “Audrey used to lock herself in her room for hours too.”
“Just give her time,” I say gently. I have no clue how to parent anyone, but it’s not too hard to put myself in a fifteen-year-old’s shoes. I was that age not that long ago. “This is a lot to handle. She’s exhausted. She wasn’t expecting to see us here. Let her shower and sleep, and process.”
“The funeral is tomorrow. She’s been dreading having to put on a brave face, but she hates crying in public.” Gayle blinks back threatening tears, which makes me think Violet’s not the only one dreading the day.
“We didn’t come here to disrupt your lives, especially not while you’re grieving.” Henry gestures, beckoning me to the door.
Howard pulls himself from his seat. “We appreciate you coming all the way here and checking on Violet.”
“Yes, we’ll have to be more vigilant with her,” Gayle says. “This all feels overwhelming. We were a lot younger and the world was different the last time we parented a teenager. I can’t even imagine the kind of trouble she can get into now.”
Henry slides his wallet from his back pocket and digs out a business card. “If you need me for anything, please do not hesitate to call.” He sets the card on the console table and then turns toward the door but hesitates. “I wasn’t trying to scare her, but this must stay between us. If the media catches wind of this story, they will run with it, and they will not be kind to Audrey’s memory. That’ll only hurt Violet more.”
Howard chews his bottom lip and nods. “We’ll talk to her. Make sure she understands.”
The door creaks behind us as we leave Audrey’s family to their grief.
CHAPTER 9
Steam fogs the bathroom, but Henry’s naked form is clearly visible through the glass as he stands beneath the showerhead, letting hot water pour down over him.
I lean against the sink and admire the view for a moment. Will I always feel this stir in my lower belly when I look at this man, even as the years pass and age erodes muscle and sags skin, when life has worn us down? Yes, I’m sure I will. All I have to do is close my eyes and imagine the electricity in his touch, the feel of his weight on top of me, the smell of his skin, and my pulse begins to race.
And yet now I see him differently than I did yesterday. Not worse. If anything, more human, more capable of mistakes.
More vulnerable.
Henry is a father.
He was quiet on the drive home from Philly, and when we arrived here, he went straight to the home gym, running on the treadmill for an hour as if running for his life. Maybe he was running from it. I still don’t know what he makes of this news.
He turns then, notices me standing there. “Get in here, Abbi,” he demands. His tone is hard and unmistakable. When he’s in this kind of mood, I always end up sore and supremely satisfied.
I slide my robe off my shoulders, allowing it to pool onto the tile floor. I slip into the shower stall behind him.
“I found the obit in the newspaper and sent flowers,” I say, ogling his hard ass and web of muscle over his back as he rinses the soap from his chest. “They’ll be delivered to the funeral home tonight, in time for the ceremony tomorrow.” An enormous arrangement that made me choke when I saw the final bill. “I put our names on it.”