She frowned and finally faced me. The tears were gone, at least. "Really, Naomi. Be serious."
"I'm dead serious." I was going to nail the bastard in more ways than one. Lie to my mom, would he? Cheat on my mom, would he? He'd picked the wrong girls to screw with. Detective Delacroix. That was me.
My mom pressed her lips together and reached out with her free hand, skimming her fingertips over my jaw. Tenderness shone from her features. "I've always thought of myself as the strong one for what I survived, but it's you. You're the one with true strength. Look at you, ready to defend my honor."
I glanced down at the table surface, beading with rings of moisture from our cups. Her praise caused my chest to constrict. She was wrong, but her words pleased me nonetheless. "I'm trying," I said.
"No; not trying. You are strong."
If she kept it up, I was going to bawl like a baby. I clasped her hand in mine and gave a gentle squeeze.
"Jonathan expects you at the house tonight. Seven-thirty. He wants to counsel you on your relationship choices. Can you come?"
How ironic. Relationship counseling from a cheater. I didn't think I was ready to see the rotten creep without scratching the skin from his bones, but I'd do it. I'd use the opportunity to sneak around the house like a goddamn Scooby-Doo disciple and find clues.
"I'll be there," I said with a firm nod.
"I love you, sweetie." She kissed my cheek, stood and glided away.
I forced Mel and Kera to go with me to Jonathans "relationship therapy" session that night. After he was finished dispensing his advice, they were going to distract him while I searched the house. Thankfully, my fury had lessened and I felt in control enough not to attack the cheating bastard with a whip and blowtorch. I loved the man, but I still planned to castrate him.
Maybe I wouldn't have been so upset if not for the picture of Royce and Big-Boobed Gwen. Nah. I'd still be pissed. Cheating was cheating.
Mom greeted us at the door. She brightened when she spotted her nieces. "Mel, Kera! I'm so glad you came. It's been too long since I last saw you. How're you doing, girls?"
"Fine, Aunt Gloria. Just fine," they answered simultaneously, and hugged her.
"Come in, come in," my mom said. I followed behind Mel and Kera, but when I tried to move past my mom, she grabbed my arm and tugged me aside. "You look ready for war." She spoke behind her hand and didn't meet my eyes. "What are you planning?"
"It's better if you don't know." I kissed her cheek, savoring the fragrance of lilies, and sailed past her. "Where's Dr. Johnnie?"
"You know he hates when you call him that." Mom waved toward the back of the house. "He's waiting for you in the den."
We followed the trail of floral-scented candles. The den was spacious, well-lit and fairly bursting with elegant bird figurines of every color and breed. Jonathan collected them. If I were analyzing him, I'd say he collected them because he's a cheating bastard who thinks it's okay to trample over a woman's self-esteem and ruin her ability to trust for the rest of her life.
That, and perhaps he wishes he could fly.
My stepdad was sitting on a big, cushy recliner, smoking a pipe and reading a book. He had a thick head of silver hair and a neat, trimmed beard.
Over the years, this man had counseled me on everything from eating disorders to shopping addictions. My entire childhood had been spent digging into my inner core, learning why I behaved as I did.
Maybe that was why I was so screwed up.
A pretty woman in her mid-twenties occupied the room's only other recliner. She, too, was reading a book and didn't notice the new arrivals. I gave her a once-over and frowned. Red curls framed her round, pleasant face. Her brown eyes tilted upward and her lips were small and shaped like Betty Boop's. She wore a fitted pink T-shirt and red-striped pants.
Could this be Jonathan's new love interest? Was he screwing around with a woman less than half his age? My frown became a hot scowl. How dare he bring her into my mom's house? How dare he! He was probably trying to pass the redheaded Boop impersonator off as a "friend." I'd met a parade of Richard's friends, aka whores, tramps and sluts.
"Hello, Jonathan," I said, both words measured carefully. Cheating bastard.