Page 79 of Denial
A bright purple bruise rings her left eye, and the bridge of her nose is swollen. Growing up with two brothers and the five Powell boys, I’ve had both of those injuries many times. I know her face has to ache.
“Let me get you some ibuprofen.” I move to the cabinet above the sink.
“It’s okay. I can stop by the convenience store on my way out of here.”
I narrow my eyes as I hold out the bottle. “You’re not leaving.”
She flicks her tongue over her cherry blossom lips, and I can’t help but watch the movement and the glistening trail left behind. “I can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t live here.”
“You don’t know if it’s safe,” I argue.
“You don’t know if it isn’t not safe,” she stumbles over her words.
I run my hand over my hair and rest my hips against the counter at my back. “Give it a few days at least. We don’t even know if this guy is your guy. Hell, we don’t even know if it’s aguyat all.”
Alice tosses back some pills and chases them with a glass of water beside her. “I can’t just move in with you.”
“Why not?” I fire back. “You’re here from morning until dark most days as it is.”
“Not during the day. Not while Nellie is at school.”
The argument is weak at best. “That doesn’t make a difference.”
“I should stay with Whitney. She and Jack have room, and I could help with Soren during the day?—”
“You came to me.” I stab my index finger into the center of my chest. In two strides, I cross the room and stop so close that our toes nearly touch. “You didn’t call Whitney or Jack or even 911. You ran in your cute, heeled boots to my fuckin’ doorstep in the middle of the night, Alice.”
“I know.”
I brace an arm on either side of her, caging her in. “That means something.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Even more reason you should be able to stay.”
“I can’t.”
“Why? If I didn’t make myself clear, I want you to stay.”
“You won’t,” she whispers, closing her eyes.
My chin jerks into my chest. “I just said?—”
The sound of my alarm and the front door opening cuts off the rest of my sentence and forces me to straighten away from her. Nellie bounds into the foyer with my mom on her heels.
“Morning, Daddy! Grammy said we could get unicorn pancakes this morning. Do you want to come?” She skids to a stop in the kitchen. “Miss Alice, are you here for pancakes too?”
I glance between my kid and her nanny. “Alice needs somewhere to stay for a while, Buttercup.”
“Sutton,” Alice hisses my name, attempting to incinerate me with her glare.
Nellie’s eyes grow rounder than they did when she was talking about pancakes. “You’re going to live here? Does thatmean we can finally have our sleepover? I’ve been waiting forever!”
A couple of weeks feels like forever when you’re eight.
