Chương 3
"I know."
"Do you?"
Outside the door, Spencer shouted my name.
I looked down at Hazel's two little teeth wrapped inside the bloodstained napkin in my palm.
"Yes," I said.
Then I opened the door.
Spencer was standing three feet away with the expression he used when a waiter misunderstood an order.
"What were you doing in there?"
"Calling someone."
His eyes went to the phone in my hand.
"Who?"
I slipped it into my coat pocket.
"Someone who answers."
Cassandra rolled her eyes.
"Oh, God."
Spencer held out his hand.
"Give me the phone."
"No."
His jaw tightened.
"Gwen."
Hazel had moved behind Evan, one small hand wrapped around the strap of her backpack.
I stepped between Spencer and her.
"You should get dressed," I said.
"For what?"
"The gala."
His face went still.
Cassandra laughed.
"You aren't going."
"I didn't say I was."
Patricia looked from me to Spencer.
"What exactly is she doing?"
"Performing," Spencer said.
He reached for my pocket.
I caught his wrist before he could touch me.
This time he pulled back quickly.
Perhaps something in my face warned him.
Perhaps the caterers still watching from the dining room did.
"You don't own my phone," I said.
"I own everything in this house."
"That sentence is going to age badly."
Cassandra gave Spencer a look that asked whether he was really going to tolerate this.
He ignored her.
"Take Hazel upstairs."
"No."
"You're upsetting her."
I stared at him.
The words were so absurd that for a second I wondered whether he had actually forgotten what had happened ten minutes earlier.
Then Hazel stepped around Evan.
"Daddy."
Spencer looked at her.
She touched her swollen lip.
"Why didn't you help me?"
Nobody spoke.
Not Patricia.
Not Cassandra.
Not even the bartender.
Spencer's eyes shifted toward me as if I had planted the question inside our daughter.
"Hazel, this is not the time."
Her face crumpled.
I lifted her before she could ask again.
"Come on."
Evan handed me the backpack.
His fingers lingered on the strap.
"Mrs. Albright."
I looked at him.
He swallowed.
"I can have a car brought around."
Spencer snapped, "She can call a rideshare."
Evan's face reddened.
I almost told him not to bother.
Then I saw Hazel pressing her tongue nervously against the empty spaces in her gum.
"A car would be helpful."
Spencer laughed without humor.
"You're fired if you do."
Evan stopped.
There it was.
A small, ugly example of why people had spent years pretending not to see things in that house.
Mortgages had a way of making cowardice look like prudence.
I took out my regular phone.
"Don't lose your job over me."
Evan stared at the floor.
"I should've said something."
"About what?"
His eyes flicked toward Cassandra.
Spencer stepped forward.
"Evan."
The warning in his voice was unmistakable.
Evan went quiet.
I wanted to press him.
I didn't.
Hazel needed a dentist more than I needed a confession from a frightened employee.
I ordered a car and walked outside.
The late afternoon sun hit too brightly after the dim entry hall.
Workers were arranging white orchids along the circular drive for the pre-gala photographs.
One of them lowered a bucket and stared at the blood on Hazel's dress.
I turned her against my shoulder.
"Don't look," I murmured.
"At what?"
"Nothing."
She pulled back.
"Mommy, I can look."
I nearly smiled.
"You're right."
The rideshare was twelve minutes away.
I sat with her on a stone bench near the fountain.
Water hissed softly behind us.
Hazel leaned against me.
"Are we homeless?"
The question came so calmly that I almost missed its weight.
"No."
"Because Daddy said you don't have money."
Children heard everything adults thought they had hidden.
I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles.
"We have somewhere to go."
"Where?"
I hadn't decided.
My father had houses in Los Angeles.
He had apartments in San Francisco, New York, London.
For six years, I had refused every key Thomas offered because taking one would have felt like admitting Spencer had been right about me needing Crawford money.
Pride became embarrassing when your child was bleeding.
"We'll figure it out after the dentist."
Hazel nodded.
Then she whispered, "Can we get chicken nuggets?"
"Yes."
"Before the dentist?"
"After."
She sighed.
"That's worse."
The car arrived.
As I opened the rear door, the black phone vibrated in my pocket.
A message appeared from Thomas.
Your father knows.
A second message followed.
He is not calm.
I stared at the screen.
Six years ago, that would have frightened me.
My father angry was a weather system everyone in his orbit learned to track.
Today it made my stomach twist for a different reason.
I typed three words.
Keep him away.
Thomas called immediately.
I declined it.
The phone rang again.
I answered before the driver could pull away.
"Thomas."
"You cannot tell Richard Crawford to stay away from his injured granddaughter and expect that instruction to survive contact with him."
"He cannot come to Spencer's house."
"He wasn't planning to."
"Where is he?"
"On his way to the pediatric dental office."
I closed my eyes.
"How does he know which office?"
"Your father owns a company that can identify a submarine cable break in under thirty seconds."
"That is not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting."
Hazel was watching me.
"Who is Richard?"
I froze.
Thomas heard her through the phone.
He said nothing.
For five years, Hazel had known my father only as a name that never appeared.
I had told myself I would explain when she was older.
Older had become a place I could always postpone reaching.
"Someone we're going to meet," I said.
She considered that.
"Is he nice?"
Thomas made a sound that might have been a cough.
I looked out the window at the palms sliding past.
"Sometimes."
"That's not very good."
"No."
She seemed satisfied by my honesty.
May you like
Thomas lowered his voice.
"Gwen, before you get there, I need you to understand something."
