Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,82

stove, setting the spoon rest back in place and waiting for him to leave.

But then, I felt his fingers brush my hair, and I stopped, standing there but still not looking at him.

“I’m sorry, you know?” he choked out, and I could hear the tears in his throat.

I locked my jaw, trying to keep it together.

“I do love you, Emmy.” He paused. “That’s why I want you to go. You’ll be the one thing in this family that’s not a fucking failure.”

I closed my eyes.

Please, just go. Please.

“It just builds up,” he explained at my back, “all day, every day, until I can’t see straight, and I’m confused and blinded and ready to jump out of my skin. It’s like I can’t stop it.”

And when he comes home, he takes it out on me, because I won’t tell and I won’t run.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing when I do it,” he mumbled. “I just can’t stop.”

A tear fell down my cheek, but I didn’t make any noise.

“You know this isn’t me,” he said. “Right?”

I nodded, finishing the stove.

“Remember when I used to let you ride in the front seat?” he said, laughing a little. “Even though Mom said you were too little, so I’d wait until we got out of the driveway, and then I’d let you crawl up front?”

I forced a laugh. “Yeah.” I looked at him over my shoulder. “As long as I promised not to tell Mom you were running a casino night in the basement while they were in Philadelphia that time.”

He chuckled. “Is it strange that someone who loved breaking the rules became a police officer?”

“No,” I told him. “They make the best cops. They know all the tricks.”

He grinned. “True.”

And what better place for a criminal to hide?

I didn’t say that out loud, though.

“I got you something today.”

He turned and dried off his hands, walking to the table where a brown bag sat. Reaching in, he pulled out a large, hardcover book and came over, handing it to me.

“It’s used, but it caught my eye today when I walked past the library’s sidewalk sale.”

Greatest Deep Sea Dives.

I smiled and started flipping through it, evidencing my interest. “It’s great,” I chirped. “The photography is so beautiful.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

He turned and grabbed his Thermos and lunchbox, and a glimmer of relief hit me, knowing he was getting ready to leave for the night shift. I drew in a welcome lungful of air.

“I love coffee table books,” I assured him. “Thanks for remembering.”

He came over and kissed my forehead, and I stilled, only relaxing again when he’d backed away.

“Lock up tight,” he said. “And sleep well. I’ll be home at seven.”

“Bye.”

He left, heading to work, but it wasn’t until I heard his car engine fade away down the street that I finally moved.

Putting the grocery bag in recycling, I carried my book, checking the doors and making sure lights were off before heading upstairs to my room. I left the lamp off and trailed to my bookshelf, pushing the row of books upright again and slipping in the newest addition to my collection.

Barcelona: An Architectural History.

101 Most Amazing Caves.

Always Audrey: Six Iconic Photographers. One Legendary Star.

West: The American Cowboy.

History of the World Map by Map…

I backed up, reading all the other spines on the two shelves, heavy with more than just the weight of the hardbacks. I liked to put them on the shelf whenever he gave me one. It pleased him to see me display his gifts, but also…it was like I’d accomplished something. It was like a trophy.

When the bruises faded, and I had nothing else to show for what would never fade in my head, I had this.

One book for every time I stood back up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He’d bought me other things over the years, presents every time he’d spent his anger and the guilt crept in, and those things were also set about the room. Things I’d leave behind when I left, so that when he came in here, he’d see and remember everything, but I’d be gone.

I dropped my eyes.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

My grandmother slept down the hall, the record player in her room working its way to the end of side A, and I wanted her to live forever, but sometimes…

Martin would be so much worse if she weren’t here. She was the only person who loved me. I needed her to stay alive.

But she was in pain.

And if she were still alive when