Darcy focused on mundane tasks: laundry, mopping, polishing, even though Gladys had done a good job. Snow had fluttered down from the late-February sky. She tried to ignore the gnawing clench in her stomach and the flutter of excitement from replayed moments. Over and over, she replayed Kate’s eyes filled with hurt. She’d been honest—what more did Kate want? Did she truly expect some public announcement? Did she think that she was in a romance novel?
As she vacuumed the stairs, the evening dusk eased in until she needed to flick on the hallway light. She sighed and flicked the wires around the vacuum cleaner and stared up at the nautical barometer on the wall. Duplicitous. Her father had been two different people. He’d flitted from one home to another with no thought of the damage. She’d hated him for it, never spoke to him again for it. So then, why did it feel as if she had become him?
“Honey,” Zoë said as she strode into the hallway, shaking off her coat. “You gonna make me a coffee? It’s freezing out.”
Susannah trudged in behind her and shook the snow out of her hair. “I’ll get it.” She walked over, kissed Darcy on the cheek, and looked at her like she was some kind of hero. “Is Kate in the kitchen?”
Yes, the same look Darcy had gazed up at her father with. Would Susannah come to hate her as much? “No, she went out.”
Susannah nodded and waltzed off, bouncing as she went. Made a nice change from the skulking teenager.
“What did you do?” Zoë let out a long sigh and took the vacuum cleaner from her.
“What do you mean?” Why did Zoë have to pick up on everything? Wasn’t it bad enough she knew her so well? Why did she have to prove that every five seconds?
“Housework.” Zoë tapped the vacuum cleaner. “You only do the housework when you’re stewing.”
“I am not stewing.” Much. “Now, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at the apartment or with that twig of yours?”
Zoë raised an eyebrow. “We’re attending your book launch. If you can call someone else writing your words your work.”
Darcy frowned. She headed to the calendar in the kitchen—some things from her mother were embedded—and chewed on her lip. “Marge wants it as part of the program.”
“Yeah. So where’s Kate? Need me to go offer ice?” Zoë’s tone was far too teasing. Darcy tensed. Susannah raised her eyebrows. She dropped the spoon in the cups, making coffee jump up at her, and Zoë laughed. “You know, in case you socked her one?”
Susannah sniggered and seemed to discount any assumptions. “Hope you took your ring off first, or she’ll get a scar like Marshall.”
Darcy glared at Zoë.
Zoë studied her, then scowled. “Oh, you didn’t mess it up already?”
“Excuse me?” She heard the irritation in her voice. Odd. Sounded like Zoë had hit a sore spot.
“You did, didn’t you?” Zoë threw her hands in the air. “The woman goes and says she loves you to millions of viewers, and, what, you tell her you gotta be some fake face?”
“It’s none of your business what I told her.” She turned from Zoë and headed into the hallway. She would have to dress, find something fitting for the occasion. She needed a shower. How could she have forgotten?
“Not my business?” Zoë stormed after her and caught her elbow. “You gonna shove me out the door again too?”
“You walked out of your own accord.” And her voice was getting higher. Silly to rise to baiting. Calm. “I didn’t shove you anywhere.”
“No?” Zoë gripped her by the arms. “Just because you don’t say the words out loud doesn’t mean you aren’t saying it with your eyes.” She flicked her hand toward the door. “What you tell her? She gotta shut up and put up?”
“Yes.” Her voice had a gritty sound. She rubbed at her throat. Needed a lemon tea, yes. Would do no good to read from a book when she was hoarse.
“Are you stupid?” Zoë gripped her arms tighter like she wanted to shake the sense into her. “Someone actually loves you for the bitch you are and you send her running?”
“She doesn’t know me.” And that was a growl. She shrugged Zoë off and stomped to the stairs. And the temper was bubbling. “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I?” Zoë stomped up after her. “You gonna lie to yourself about that too? You gonna lie and say that your mom didn’t take it out on you that your dad was a slimeball?” She stomped closer. “You gonna lie and say that you couldn’t bear the family who took you in when your mom died, that you couldn’t bear the thought of playing the same play your parents did? You gonna be a fake or a failure like them?” She stepped into her space. “You gonna lie and say that watching me and Kate walk out the door didn’t rip a hole right through you?”
Smack. She slapped Zoë across the cheek.
Zoë blinked.
Susannah put her hands over her mouth at the bottom of the stairs. Wonderful. Not only was she her father, but she’d added in her mother too.
“You have no idea what you did to me, walking away,” she whispered, glaring into Zoë’s eyes. Blurry. Tears? That was helpful. What did crying solve? “You broke me.”
Zoë’s eyes glinted. “You broke me first.”
“So let the girl go home when the show’s done and save her the trouble of a broken heart.” She turned and strode up the stairs. The best way not to be her parents was to ensure no one had to live with her scars.