“I should have let them throw you in prison, you know that.”
She turns away, walking toward her car door. Her statement infuriates me. I follow her, digging my fingernails into my palms, I breathe through my nose.
“So you could have him?” I blurt. My blood pounds in my ears. I ask myself that question all the time. I say it again. “You should have lost the case so you could have him?”
She freezes, looks at me over her shoulder.
“Yeah.”
I didn’t expect the truth. It frightens me. I open my mouth — force the words out. “I thought you loved your husband.”
She blows air through her nose. The action reminds me of an agitated horse. Her eyes rove from my shoes and land in disgust on my face.
“I love yours too.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Past
Before Caleb and I were married, I rarely allowed my parents to be around him out of fear that their opinions would rub off on him, and he’d start looking at me like they did. Most of my other boyfriends hadn’t caught on to their veiled insults and cold parenting. Caleb was smart, he’d see right through them, right through me — and start asking questions. I didn’t want the questions or the eventual resignation it would bring: Leah is a disappointment. She’s not the real deal, just the secondhand daughter.
I didn’t like anyone knowing my shit. So, for the two years of our courtship, I herded him in and out of social events with my family with meticulous precision. It was exhausting for the most part — making sure no one said too much, the conversations didn’t dip too deep. After the wedding, that changed. Maybe, I felt more comfortable since I had the commitment, or maybe it was the fact that I had finally told him the truth about where I came from.
We were formally invited to attend dinner at their house a week after we got back from our honeymoon. Caleb was still bristling over the fact that my father wouldn’t walk me down the aisle.
“I don’t want to go, Leah. What he did was disrespectful to you. He’s lucky I didn’t call him out at the wedding. I won’t let him treat you like that.”
I loved that. I felt more valuable in those five seconds than I had in years.
“Please,” I reached up on my tiptoes and kissed his chin. “Let’s just keep the peace. I love my sister. I don’t want to cause a rift.”
He grabbed my upper arms and squeezed gently, narrowing his eyes. “If he says one word, Leah, one word that I don’t like…”
“You’re going to punch him in the face,” I said firmly.
He grinned crookedly and kissed me roughly on the mouth — just the way I liked it.
“I’m going to punch him in the face if he serves duck. I hate duck.”
I giggled against his lips. “What about if he tells the scuba diving joke?”
“That too — he’s getting hit for the joke…”
We were moving toward the bedroom, our feet shuffling together, our lips never far apart.
I laced my fingers in his hair, the edges of my thoughts fraying until they fell apart, and all I could think of was his touch and his husky voice in my ear.
Later that evening, we walked to my parents' door hand in hand. Two weeks in the Maldives had left us tanned and relaxed, and we were still floating in our vacation lull, laughing and kissing and touching like one of us might disappear. Caleb was finally mine. As my hand sought out the doorknob, my thoughts fleetingly went to my arch nemesis. My lips found a smile so rooted in triumph that Caleb cocked his head at me quizzically.
“What?” He asked.
I shrugged. “I’m just happy, that’s all. Everything is perfect.”
I wished I could say: Dum, dum, the witch is dead…
But, the witch wasn’t dead. She was in Texas — which was good enough.
My parents and sister were in the family room. They looked at Caleb expectantly when we walked in, almost like they were waiting for him to announce he was leaving me. There was an awkward thirty seconds of silence before my sister jumped up to hug us.
“How was it? Tell me everything.” She grabbed my hand and led me toward the couch. I glanced at Caleb, who was shaking hands with my father. Daddy liked Caleb. He liked him so much that I wondered what he’d think about the fact that Caleb hated him. I felt a sick satisfaction knowing that I’d turned Caleb against him. My father thought he could have anyone, and he truly wanted everyone’s adoration … except mine.
“It was beautiful,” I assured her. "Very romantic.”
A quick glance at Caleb.
She leaned close to me. “They’ve been bitching all morning about how much the wedding cost them,” she said. “Don’t bring it up.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm. This was typical behavior for my parents. Of course they’d pay for their eldest daughter’s wedding. Of course it would be extravagant and over the top to impress their friends. Of course they would bitch afterward about how much money they’d had to shell out for someone who wasn’t really blood. But, what else could they do? No one knew I wasn’t really theirs. To do anything less would cast a shadow over their perfect image as loving parents.
Please, God, please don’t let them say anything in front of Caleb.
My sister was holding a glass of red wine. I took it from her and swallowed a mouthful.
My mother was walking toward us, each of her birdlike steps tugging a fresh strand of dread to the forefront of my mind.