ANNASOPHIA
I lose track of how much time passes before Alexandra stops struggling in my arms. Numbness creeps over my whole body, but I hold on. The post-adrenaline rush leaves her whacked. Muscles in her back and legs twitch. Adrenaline and what else?
Please let me be overreacting.
She groans and sighs—familiar sounds from infancy. Her heart rate slows, and her skin feels cool to the touch. I release a pent-up breath, hissing out the stink of fear. Sleep. She just needs a good night’s sleep.
Can I carry her to the house or should I wake her?
I kiss the top of her head. Despite the shower, she reeks of sweat and sex. Heat radiates from her scalp as if her brain is an engine running on overload. She’s a kid whose parents never took her out at night and so never woke her to return home. Michael never accepted social engagements that included our children. Nor did he encourage sleepovers away from or at Belle Haven.
Why would they want to sleep elsewhere? They belong in their own beds, AnnaSophia.
Our children woke in the middle of the night whenever Michael’s tirades got out of control. Unwanted memories sneak down my spine like a burglar opening drawers in a sleeping house. Of course, Michael never comforted anyone in the middle of the night, and he laughed at me for my coddling.
Children need to learn their parents have disagreements, AnnaSophia. It’s not the end of the world. You can’t protect them from every bad dream.
“AnnaSophia?”
I flinch, confusing Satish’s whisper with the memories. Disoriented, I stare at the pool—not the infinity pool at Belle Haven—but a pool I don’t recognize in that split second. Where I am or why I’m holding Alexandra on my lap offers no logical explanation for sitting outside in silvered moonlight.
“Did I scare you?” Satish looms in front of me.
“I—I didn’t hear you.” I return his whisper with another whisper, but a few birds in the nearby trees stir and complain. “What time is it?”
“Three o’clock. Maverick left an hour ago. Don’t you think you should go inside?”
Alexandra moves her head against my shoulder but doesn’t open her eyes.
“I must’ve dozed off.” Shifting my feet sends a barrage of needles sharper than syringes into my injured cuneiform.
Damn. I groan, catch my bottom lip between my teeth, and exhale.
Satish kneels next to my chair. “What’s wrong?”
“ … minute. Give me … a minute.” The intensity of a possible fracture faded during the showdown with Alexandra. Now, the spot throbs as if it’s my unrelenting companion for life. Hyper-aware of Satish at my side, I grit my teeth and say, “I hurt my foot earlier …”
“Let me carry Alexandra inside.” Without offering sympathy, he stands, brushes my shoulder, yanks his hand back. “I’ll put her in bed, but I’ll come back and help you.”
“No.” The whispered dissent explodes out of me but doesn’t wake Alexandra.
“All right,” Satish maintains an even, uninflected tone.
“She could get up. Take off. Run—” Fear scrapes my throat. Unable to give voice to run away, I swallow and whisper, “If you can carry her, I’ll come behind you. I can walk.”
His face registers no emotion. He lets my about-face stand unchallenged. He bends and gathers Alexandra in his arms. When he lifts her, the warmth of her body, infused with the front of my body, wafts upward and evaporates. Goosebumps jockey up and down my arms. I inch forward in the chair. When I ease onto the ball of my foot, nausea swirls into my stomach.
“I’m right behind you,” I whisper. How can Alexandra sleep so soundly? Mother-sense says she’s not drunk. Or stoned. Or high.
ER-sense laughs. Druggies possess a deviousness magicians envy.
Unable to open the heavy sliding glass door into the kitchen, Satish waits for me to hobble across the deck. I’m out of breath. He breathes without a hitch. Alexandra snores through her mouth.
“My bedroom.” I can’t face removing the stained sheets on her bed.
He goes first and pushes down the door handle with his hip. Inside, he goes to the king-sized bed. He lays Alexandra down as if she’s a princess. She scrubbed off the raccoon tracks on her cheeks but not her lipstick. Despite the blood-red color, she looks young and lovely. I turn away from the bed so he can’t see the tears spilling down my cheeks.
“How about ice for your foot?” He moves behind me, and I feel a tendril of gratitude take root in my chest.
“Exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“I’ll get it. Crawl into bed. I plan to sleep in front of the door until the sun comes up.”
“You’ll hurt your back.” The protest rings feeble, but my heart rate spikes.
“So she won’t run away.”