Page 85 of Redemption

“Guess I’ll have to do it then.” He shrugs and turns away from me.

I glare at his back as he leaves for the kitchen, then I let her down on the floor as I quickly go to the bathroom. It’s still dark outside. It’ll take a couple of hours yet before the sun comes up behind all those clouds. Grabbing a diaper, I try to remember when the last time I changed her even was. Probably before her afternoon nap yesterday. She hasn’t complained but I feel like a horrible mother. Well, a horrible mother who’s been under some pressure. While he rummages through the kitchen, I clean her and give her some new clothes. I keep glancing at my front door. Could we make it? But the storm rages on without any signs of calming down and I doubt I would have a chance at collecting our outdoor clothes without him noticing. I stick to preparing my daughter for the day, then I gather a couple of old newspapers and stuff them together with some dry logs in the fireplace.

“Can I help you with something?”

I’m just about to light the match and my balance isn’t the best after the ankle injury from yesterday. I squeal as I topple over from my crouching position and sit down too hard on my butt.

“Yeah,” I mutter as I get up and strike the match, my heart pounding fiercely from his closeness. “You know the front door?”

“Yeah,” he answers hesitantly.

“Open it, get out, close it and don’t come back.” I refuse to look at him, and he doesn’t say a word.

“Angwy, Momma.”

Yes, Mommy’s angry!“Mommy’s gonna make some breakfast as soon as I’ve lit the fire, honey.” I watch the flames engulf the paper, curl it in orange and black serpentines, crumble the black letters and incinerate the news of the world. When I rise and turn, he’s still standing right behind me, his arms crossed over his naked chest. My instincts tell me to back away, but I can’t because of the fireplace. Cece’s on my right and the armchair is on the left, trapping me way too close to comfort.

“We need to talk,” he says.

“I don’t want to talk with you. We have nothing to say to each other and if you need to talk, I think you should go see a shrink.”

A muscle on the side of his cheek clenches and unclenches repeatedly.

I swallow hard when his eyes flare up. I glance down at Cece, then back at him. He follows my gaze and then he backs up a step, his lips tightly pressed together.

“Later,” he rasps and narrows his eyes, before he backs away and leaves for the bathroom.

Oh, God.Wehaveto get out of here. I can’t help the tears that roll down my cheeks when I fall into a trembling heap next to my girl. “Come on, baby, let’s make you some breakfast.”

Christian

Kerry is snarkier than ever. I have a severe headache and I’m not in the mood for games, but I soften as Cecilia flirts with me, a little less shy than yesterday. I grin inwardly at Kerry’s anger and obvious jealousy when she spots her daughter smiling at the big bad wolf.

The day, with its few pale hours of daylight, passes agonizingly slowly. It’s cloudy, still windy even though it has abated a little. Kerry occupies herself with Cecilia, keeping her as a shield between us. I can virtually smell her fear every time I happen to catch her alone.

They eat. Breakfast, lunch.

I eat.

Breakfast.

Lunch.

Kerry plays with our daughter, reads to her, then plays some more. I pretend to read but can’t keep my eyes off them. They’re beautiful. They’re life. A streak of pain ripples through my chest. I’ve never had it. Why is that? What makes me want it now?Shecertainly wouldn’t see it that way, but I wonder if it isn’t what I did to her two years ago that changed me. I’ve never felt such regret before. It has consumed me. It drove me deeper into my own darkness than ever before, made me reckless, ruthless. It made me feared and hated among the people I work with. It made me despise them all, my life and everything in it.

I look up when Kerry rises heavily, limping toward the kitchen. It’s late afternoon and darkness fell completely an hour ago. If I close my eyes, I think I’ll fall asleep. I force myself to get up instead. I need to stay alert.

“Ker.”

“Hm?” she answers drowsily, her hand clutching Cecilia’s. I take a closer look at my captives. The little one looks perfectly fine, but Kerry looks terrible, and she reeks.

“Go take a bath. Take her with you, let me do the cooking.”

I see the doubt even before she opens her mouth.

“Yes, I cook. Now get the hell into some hot water. You stink.”

The brief glint of gratefulness on her face is immediately replaced by a sneer, but she turns toward the bathroom.