The one she tries to hide because good mothers are supposed to want justice clean and legal and safe. But I saw it. The same part of her that said Jeremy cheated court. The part that knows not every monster stops because a judge asks nicely.
“He said that?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
Her eyes fill.
I expect fear.
I get fury.
For one second, Amelia looks like she could walk to Paradise herself and finish what I started.
Then she blinks, and the fury folds back under grief.
“You can’t put yourself in trouble like that,” she says.
“I’m already in trouble.”
“Not like this.”
“No. Not like this.” I step closer. “But don’t stand there thinking you brought trouble to my door and I was innocent before you.”
She looks up.
“My hands weren’t clean before you, Amelia.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. Not all the way.”
“I don’t want blood on them for me.”
“Then don’t look too close at what was already there.”
That hurts her.
I see it.
I hate that I said it.
I’m still too full of rage and jail and Jeremy’s smile to soften anything right.
She releases my wrist. “That’s not fair.”
“No.”
The front door opens wider, and Lottie looks between us. “You two going to bleed feelings on the porch all night or come in before the neighbors learn to read lips?”
I glare at her. “What neighbors?”
“Exactly. Get inside.”
Lottie leaves not long after.
She says she is heading out and tells Amelia to straighten up before bed. I don’t know what the hell that means, but Amelia goes strange when she hears it. Only for a second. A flicker. Then gone.
I’m too tired to chase it.