He took us through the trials, and when he admitted to doctoring the results, I felt Caleb go rigid. He ended his story with a nice fist to my stomach.
“I’ve been indicted. They are going to look at Johanna as well.”
Caleb jumped up. “What? What does Leah have to do with this?”
“Her signatures are all over the paperwork. None of the testing could have been done without her signature. The same goes for the releases.”
I made a noise that sounded like strangled fear. Caleb looked down at me, his eyes lit like two burning amber balls. He narrowed them. “Is this true? Did you know what was going on?”
I shook my head. “I just signed what he told me to sign. I didn’t know anything about the real results.”
His head whipped back to my father. “You’re going to tell them — “ he pointed a finger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Caleb point his finger at someone.
My father was already shaking his head. “It won’t make a difference, Caleb.”
I felt my worth at that point. A penny. I was a sidewalk toss away — a grimy piece of metal stuck to the bottom of the cup holder, couch cushions, old wallets and under the fridge between a shriveled grape and an unidentified hair — that was me. He saw no value in me, except to use me when he came up short.
Fuck. f**kfuckfuck.
Caleb’s voice was hard rock grinding itself into gravel. I couldn’t make out what he was saying until it was too late. I heard the words She’s your daughter, right before he lurched forward. I saw the tremor of shock pass across my father’s face, as my beautiful, russet haired husband threw a punch that would have had Tyson nodding in approval. My sister and my mother started screaming. I covered my ears. You’d swear they had never seen a man get put in his place. I wanted Caleb to hit him again, mostly for not loving me, but also because I was officially in a barrel of deep trouble.
“Caleb!” I grabbed him, hauled him back. His body was still twisted toward my father like he wanted to hit him again. “Let’s go. I want to leave.”
His jaw was scary. Truly. Put me in a room with a hundred hungry mountain lions before you put me in a room with Caleb's jaw.
Caleb grabbed my hand. My father, the great Charles Austin Smith was flopped face up on the chaise lounge, his nose bleeding through his fingers and his face the color of raw liver. Before we walked out, I stopped. My breath was keeping time with my heart. Caleb looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head. I faced my family. The three of them were huddled together around my father's bleeding face. My mother's eyes were terrified, as she tried to mop up the blood with a beverage napkin. My sister was saying Daddy over and over as she cried. I felt repulsed and terrified as I watched. For the first time, I didn't want to belong with them. I didn't want to be a part of their bleeding, cowering trio.
"Daddy?" He lifted his head and I saw his bloodshot eyes find me. My mother and sister stopped wailing to look at me, too. "Daddy," I repeat. "I'm never going to call you that again. You probably don't care, and that's okay, because I don't either. I'd rather be the bastard daughter of a prostitute than ever share your blood."
Caleb squeezed my hand, and we walked out.
Two days later he was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Present
I stalk Cammie on Facebook. I swear all that dumb blond does is post pictures of her lunch. I hate that. I keep hoping to catch some snippet of Caleb or that slut, Olivia. I sign on to my barely used account and type in Cammie’s name. I want to see if she posted pictures of Olivia’s birthday. I want to see if Caleb was there. That’s stupid, I tell myself. Olivia is married to sexy Ghandi. There is no way Caleb would be invited. I comb through all of the pictures anyway, searching for a piece of his hands or feet or hair. All I see are pictures of Olivia. Someone had snapped a photo of her walking into the surprise party. Her mouth is open and if you didn’t know better, you’d think someone was pointing a gun at her instead of shouting Happy Birthday. She is wearing skinny jeans and a tube top. I sniff as I click through the pictures. Olivia hugging Noah, Olivia laughing with Cammie, Olivia blowing out candles on a cupcake tower, Olivia shooting someone with a water gun, Olivia getting pushed into the pool…
The very last picture is of Olivia opening a present. She is sitting on a chair with the box open in her lap. The look on her face is anything but happy. Her eyebrows are drawn together and her mouth is puckered into one of her famous side frowns. I eye the box, trying to see what’s inside of it, but all I can see is the metallic blue paper. Cammie has captioned the picture: Don’t know who this one is from?? Own up or you don’t get a thank-you card.
I look at the package suspiciously. What could be inside that would cause her to look so horrified? I click to the next pictures, but Olivia is in none of them. It’s like she disappeared after she opened that package. I shove a handful of barely thawed carrots into my mouth. Scooting my chair back, I go in search of Sam. I find him folding laundry in the nursery. Caleb has the baby, but Sam has been coming in anyway to help me live.
“You were at that party, right?”
“What party?” He opens a drawer, deposits a pile of onesies and closes it without looking at me.
“Olivia’s party, Sam.” His eyes travel from my crossed arms to my tapping foot.
“I will not feed into your stalker tendencies.”
“What was in that blue box Olivia opened?”