ANNASOPHIA
Next to me on the family-room sofa, Anastaysa takes in the news about Maverick without breathing. She covers her mouth and pushes away, her face white, pupils huge. She whispers, “Does Alexandra have anything to do with Maverick’s murder?”
My heart stops. When it starts beating again, too fast and too hard, it feels as heavy as new cement. The effort to shake my head is more than I can summon, but I hold my gaze steady.
“Alexandra was with me and Detective Patel for the whole night after Maverick left.”
“That’s not my point, Mamá.”
“Staysha, you’re scaring Mamá.” My son’s tiny, hoarse voice reflects his own terror.
Sometimes—more often lately—I find Anastaysa’s insights mind-boggling scary, but I pat Magnus’s hand. “I’m not scared, sweetheart. I’m confused.”
“What if someone killed Maverick out of jealousy? Most of the girls at school hate Alexandra. She’s too popular with all the boys.”
“Honey, how would any of the girls know about Maverick? He met Alexandra in a bar.”
“Do you think she’s the only girl at school who goes to bars?”
No sarcasm, but the message hurls an electrical jolt through me as if I’ve fallen on a live wire. “Honestly? I never considered the possibility.”
“Didn’t you drink when you were underage?”
My heart stutters before I reply, “I didn’t like the taste.”
She scans me, her eyes clouded with doubt. Justifiable ... given what she has seen at the Belle Haven dining table with Michael, Alexandra, me, and a wine bottle.
“When your father and I were first married, he introduced me to wine—premium wines. I drank half a glass daily.” Cuddled next to me, Magnus squirms.
A look from Anastaysa snaps his mouth shut.
“When I became pregnant with Alexandra, I stopped. I started again after she was born so I could sleep.” In that fiction lurks a degree of truth mixed with a larger degree of dishonesty.
I drank to escape Michael’s sexual assaults.
“What about when you got pregnant with me?” Anastaysa asks.
“I switched to mineral water—”
“Why?”
A truthful answer harbors too many secrets. “Someday, I’ll give you more details, but now, let’s focus on Alexandra.”
Magnus twists around, tilting his face up toward mine. “Mamá, are you mad at Staysa?”
My face burns. It’s not what we say, but how we say it. I swallow and shift my tone into neutral. “I’m not mad at Staysa. I’m disappointed she didn’t tell me about Zandra’s drinking.”
And that she apparently knew Alexandra was sneaking out at night while I was snoring.
“Your face and ears are red, and your eyes look like hot coals.” Anastaysa gnaws on her bottom lip. “You sure look mad.”
“I said I wasn’t mad at you.” I prop her chin on my thumb and brush her lip with my index finger. “I’m mad—at myself. For letting Alexandra down. For not paying enough attention. For expecting you to keep an eye on your sister. That’s my job.”
“Staysa, are you crying?” Magnus asks.
“Mind your own business, Magnus.” She lifts her chin high, stretching her neck to a point where it should break.
“Come here, baby.” I pull her stiff body toward me. Little by little, her shoulders drop. I tuck her head under my chin and stroke her fine, silvery hair.
Her sobs shatter my heart. Magnus whimpers, and Molly charges into the room and crawls onto the sofa, whining, licking Magnus’s face.
Anastaysa sniffles and sits up straighter. “Now we’ll all smell like dog.”
A tremor shakes Magnus’s giggle, but he says, “I love the smell of dog.”
There’s a split second of silence before Anastaysa laughs. “You would. You’re a boy.”
Her laughter rings with an emotion I hope is relief. Relief we’ve survived another family crisis. In this case, a near major crisis.
Or maybe it’s my laugh that no longer feels or sounds fake that I take as signs of relief.
Molly barks, tosses her head, and nose-butts each of us—as if to keep the good times rolling. I get so lost in the silliness that I jump when Ari appears in the door.
“Sorry to break up the fun fest. The doorbell’s rung three times. Want me to answer it?”
For whatever goofy reason, the question sets us off again like inmates recently released from an asylum.
“Guess that means yes,” Ari mumbles and leaves.
He returns while we’re hugging each other and Molly. His scowl cuts out the need for an entire conversation. The tension centered in the small of my back ratchets up to palpable.
“Alexandra’s date is here.”