Jessica shrinks, seeming to press herself into Richard, but he can’t protect her.
“Jesus,” Richard says, stepping away from Jessica. “I’m not—” He looks to me and says, “I’m exploring options in case. You know as well as I do there’s no way to know how the court case will play out.”
Noah appears at the door—and it’s clear from his expression, he’s there to protect me.
Noah’s presence infuses me with strength—even from the doorway. “You’re not taking her away from me, Richard.”
“The courts might see it differently,” Jessica adds, voice small but annoyingly sure of itself.
Richard’s jaw flexes, and he points at her car. “Jessica—go. You aren’t helping.”
He’s firm. Cold. It’s like he’s talking to a teenager who’s overstepped, not the woman he shares a bed with. Some petty part of me enjoys watching her wilt.
She turns her back on me and I get a view of her bright blonde hair and the skirt that hugs every curve of her backside and the thin black hosiery line that travels along the back of her legs.
“Okay, baby,” she says. “Remember, I’m here for you. I’ll get dinner together, for all of us. You’ll probably want to eat at home, right?”
My gaze cuts to Noah, and he descends the two steps to join me on the lawn. I miss whatever exchange occurs between Richard and Jessica, but the result is she gets in her car. We stand awkwardly, on the narrow front strip of grass, in silence until her car door closes and her engine rumbles.
With that out of the way, I focus on what matters. “I need to tell Stella.” It’s a statement, and I do my best to ensure he reads me correctly—I’m not backing down on this. “I want her to hear it from me.”
“She’s only twelve.”
“And she needs to hear it from me—not a classmate. Christine is coming over tonight. I didn’t tell her. Word’s out.”
“I thought you specialized in keeping things under wraps.” His expression is lighter, a hint of bitter humor, but then his gaze flits to Noah and he’s heated ice once more.
“I’m a crisis management expert,” I say. “And this is how you manage a crisis.”
“Fine. But she’s coming to stay with me this week.”
“That could be for the best,” I agree. “But only because I will have some busy days. You’re not taking her from me, Richard.”
“Well, you better win your case.” I’d like to think he’s joking, but he’s not. He’ll absolutely move for full custody if I’m found guilty of murder, but I can’t think about that.
“Come on. You can wait inside while I go up and talk to Stella.”
As I climb the stairs, I hear Noah ask if Richard’s thirsty. That’s good—Richard can see for himself that Noah is a decent, respectable person. I continue climbing, reaching the third floor and Stella’s open bedroom door. She’s got an overnight bag open. She keeps things in both our houses, but she inevitably always has a favorite sweater or jeans that she carries back and forth. Her phone lies on the bed, screen lit—as she likely just laid it down. The screensaver isn’t on and I pick it up—spotting the Snapchat icon.
“Snapchat?”
She freezes, then lifts her chin. “Dad said it was okay.”
I close my eyes and sink onto her bed. “He probably doesn’t know what it is.”
“What’s wrong with it? All my friends have it.”
First, all her friends don’t have it because all her friends don’t have phones, but I swallow that back. “It deletes messages. Kids use it like it’s a magic eraser and forget anyone can screenshot whatever they send.” I don’t see anything else worrisome on her phone, and we have a big conversation in front of us, so I set the device on the bed. “It can be addictive.”
“Mom.” She rolls her eyes. “I won’t get addicted.”
A sharp pain pierces my temple and I breathe in deeply. “We’ll talk about it,” I say. She opens her mouth, likely to argue, but I stop her with, “I have other things to talk to you about right now.”
She sits on the bed, crossing her legs, quiet. My perceptive girl understands whatever I’m about to tell her is of a serious nature.
“Are you and Noah getting married?”
My brain stutters. “What?”