I told your mother, I didn’t book the trip through the hotel.” Simon made it clear I was testing his patience. “I made it through a travel website, so they had the reservation, not the Sheraton. When I canceled, the reservation went away.” Then he crouched down so I could see his face clearly. It wasn’t looking happy. “Do you want to see the receipt, Maggie?”
Connor came into the kitchen, sensed the tension, and asked what was going on. We ignored him.
“Look, I was devastated to miss that field trip,” Simon said. “But I felt it was more important to try to … you know, do something to bring us a little bit closer. And that deal was too good to pass up. Hang on, Maggie. There’s something I want to show you.”
With that, Simon left the room, leaving me to face Mom and her disapproving eyes.
“You’ve got to try to make it easier for us, Mags,” Mom said. “We all need to get along, and Simon does a lot for us that you don’t seem to appreciate.”
I couldn’t look my mom in the eyes, so instead I watched her fiddle with her opal necklace, twirling the dazzling pendant in her fingers. I recognized that necklace, of course: it was the one Simon had bought for Mom’s last birthday. My mom loved opals, but the present had bothered me—the last gift my dad had bought Mom had also been an opal necklace.
“You really called the Sheraton?” Connor said, shaking his head in disbelief.
I felt burning shame rush into my cheeks, even though in my bones I knew Simon wasn’t being truthful.
Eventually Simon returned to the kitchen, showing up in the middle of Mom’s big speech about everyone trying harder, and presented me with a receipt he’d printed off a travel website.
“You can take it,” he said. “It’s authentic.”
But Mom took it first.
“No, she can’t have it, because I’m not encouraging any more of this behavior. It’s utterly ridiculous.”
“Honestly, Maggie,” Simon said. “I don’t know why you’re so suspicious of me. But eventually, and this is a promise, I’m going to win you over, one way or another.”
But the way he said it, darkly, with no hint of joy in his voice or eyes, made his big promise sound more like a threat. That’s when an idea came to me, a burst of inspiration—a stroke of genius, I think is the expression. I needed Mom to see the real Simon, the angry Simon, the dark Simon who’d snatched the TV remote from my hand, the one who had lied about our trip and then lied again. To do that, I had to make him angry, really angry, and I knew just how to do it.
CHAPTER 16
It was Saturday night, four days to go before Nina started her new job. She was headed out to dinner with Ginny and Susanna to celebrate, wearing a cute black top she seldom wore and her favorite pair of jeans, which fit her curves much better since moving stress had jettisoned some unwanted pounds. Her makeup was applied in a way that smoothed out the years without seeming bent on recapturing her youth.
She was almost ready to leave when she heard an unmistakable sound emanating from behind the shuttered door to the master bathroom. Moments before, Simon had rushed upstairs and vanished within without uttering a word. Then came the retching, the splash, next a flush, followed by more retching.
Nina went to the door and gave a gentle knock, worry knitting creases in her brow.
“Babe?” she called out.
“Hang on.” Simon’s strangled voice had the raspy, breathless sound of extreme fatigue. Nina grimaced at a cringe-worthy heave and splash. Eventually, Simon emerged, his complexion the color of glue, sweat beading on his forehead, standing shakily on his feet.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
“Dunno,” he said wearily. “Came on like a freight train.”
Staggering over to the bed, Simon fell with a thump onto the mattress.
“I hope this is gone by Monday,” he groaned. “We’re about to start the colonial settlements segment.”
Kneeling beside Simon, Nina touched his forehead with the back of her hand. His skin was clammy.
“Oh honey,” she said, scraping the side of her hand against the stubble of his cheek as she brushed back his hair. “Food poisoning?”
Nina noted how she was feeling. She had sampled a few spoonfuls of the mac and cheese Simon prepared for Maggie’s dinner, but her stomach felt fine, thank goodness.
“I don’t think so,” said Simon, before letting out a little groan. “I