I’m gonna take my two sweethearts to dinner. When we return, and Mia falls asleep, I’ll correct any concerns ye have about these sweet, round tits.”
Chevelle kisses me again, mumbling about makeup as she leaves the room. The warm smile on my face fades as I stomp back over to the laptop to find my car. My feckin’ dream car. LoJack has been disabled. Aye, I should be more concerned about the DNA evidence in the trunk. But I’m not. My enemy has his sins, and I’ll find them out.
Chapter 29
Leith
I’m still hotter than deep-fried tatties when the host escorts us through an outdoor seafood restaurant. We stop at a white linen table with a real candle and all the adornments my lasses love. The ocean wind feathers through Chevelle’s hair as I help her into a seat.
The maître d', who knows our family by name, adds a booster seat to Mia’s chair. On the table, he places crayons and a coloring book.
While Mia leans against the banister, looking out into the water, I crouch down to her level. “Hag, dinna forget to be on yer best behavior.”
“Daddy, I saw something.”
“Hmmm,” I glance across the darkening sea, already aware this is a setup.
“Pirate’s ship!” She shouts.
“Och, Mia! Ye’re too loud.” For once, I’m reprimanding her before my wife can. Actually, Chevelle isn’t saying a word when I wrestle our daughter away from the railing. Chevelle’s eyes are glued to an auld, black couple. They’re staring at her, too. I give them the once over, though I can’t place either of their faces. The lad’s a suit and tie type, while his mate dresses like my mam.
I’m planting Mia’s behind into the booster seat when the couple stands. I’ve settled across from Mia, looping an arm over Chevelle, when I realize the couple is heading toward us and not just a view of the ocean.
“Mr. and Mrs. Nix.” Chevelle smiles, moonlight hitting her tear-filled eyes.
The lass clasps her hands together. “Carla Anderson, I thought—”
“That’s not my mommy’s name,” Mia cuts in.
“Wheesht, shhh!” I cut my hand through the air. Though I’m at a loss for much of Chevelle’s past, I understand my wife’s reason to continue disassociating herself with her parents. The bitch who raised her was just as bad as the man she once called Da.
Chevelle introduces the couple as members of a Baptist church in Chicago. The wife says how they still attend the church. Tension slows the conversation and cuts down the smiles between them.
“We have to keep in touch,” Mrs. Nix’s eyes warm over like hot chocolate.
“Sure,” Chevelle removes her phone from her tiny clutch. They exchange numbers, except my wife alters the one she gives them. I catch her eye, knowing it was on purpose. When they leave, Mia has a quizzical look on her face.
“Are they grandma and—”
“Nae, Mia,” I sigh. “Da and yer mam will talk to ye about it later.”
Mia’s bottom lip curls under. “Awww, I wish they was my grandma and grandpa. Get more gifts!”
“No, sweetheart. They’re a bit older than my—” Chevelle’s voice has dropped in volume with each word. Clearing her throat, she continues, “Than my parents would’ve been.”
The candlelight flickers across our daughter’s curious gaze. “You got parents, Mommy?”
“Mia,” I reply, “everyone has parents.”
“It’s okay, Leith. The conversation was bound to come up one day. Yes, honey, everyone has parents.”
“Where, Mommy?” Mia glances around.
“My momma’s in heaven, though Dad went straight to Hell.”
Our lassie’s eyes grow round. She sucks in a lung full of air. I never thought I’d see the day Mia was speechless, but she gawks at the two of us. Mam sprang Heaven and Hell on Mia a while back. I can honestly say I’d never argued with Mam until that very second. The muscles beneath my jaw ribbon. I’m stuck between the rainbows and butterfly worldview I prefer for our daughter and the nightmare tormenting my wife.
“Sorry,” Chevelle murmurs, conscious of my wishes not to introduce such a topic to her.
“We make the rules together, hen,” I reply, grazing her earlobe with my lips. A fissure separates the love I have for my wife and the hurt she refuses to share.
The server arrives. Recalling my threats, Mia has zipped her lips. Normally, they have a routine where Mia asks about the daily special. She just gets too excited, is all.
I nod to the waiter. “Mia, ask yer questions.”
With one last look at her mom, Mia diverts to a prim tone. “What’s on the menu today,