Heart Like Mine A Novel - By Amy Hatvany Page 0,98
turning a corner, and now this? I knew adolescents could be unpredictable—I remember throwing a few nightmare hissy fits when I was thirteen, too—but this seemed extreme.
“I don’t care if I hurt her!” Max shrieked, his face burning scarlet, the tears still falling.
“You’re such a little shit!” Ava yelled.
“Max! Ava!” I said, letting go of Max and standing up in the middle of the room. “Both of you knock it off right now! Do you hear me?” I was yelling, too, and breathing hard.
Ava looked at me, now the lift of her chin and defiance in her narrowed eyes making her seem much older than she was. I remember giving that same look to my father when he’d try to tell me what I should do. Screw you, it said.
“You’re not my mom,” she said. Her voice was low and full of spite. “I don’t have to do anything you say.”
“I’m the adult here, young lady, and you will do exactly what I say.” Even though I felt unsure, I lowered my tone to match hers, the same strategy I used to employ as an HR executive when mouthy employees tried to steamroll over me. I refused to allow this little girl to believe she intimidated me in any way.
At this point, I heard the front door open and shut. “Hey, guys,” Victor called out. “I’m home!” He appeared behind Ava a moment later, and she whipped around to bury her face against him. Her shoulders shook, and I couldn’t help but think she was faking her tears to look like a victim. Max pushed past me and threw his arms around his father’s waist, too. Victor gave me a confused, imploring look, his hands rubbing his children’s backs. “Hey now,” he said. “What’s all of this? What happened?”
“Max threw a tantrum and trashed the Wii,” I said tiredly, gesturing to the mess of cracked plastic and wiring on the floor. “Then he and Ava started fighting and he threw a book at her.”
“Grace yelled at us, Dad,” Ava said. Her tone had shifted from spiteful to sorrowful. “Max and I were trying to work it out.”
“That’s not what happened, Ava, and you know it,” I said. “Victor? Can we go talk about this in the other room?”
He moved his eyes to the shattered Wii box and then to me. I couldn’t read his expression. “I’ll come talk with you in a little bit,” he said. “Let me handle this, first.”
“But—” I began, but Victor cut me off.
“Grace. I’ve got it handled, okay?”
I stared at him, and a pain in my chest began radiating out through the rest of my body, a feeling I couldn’t immediately name. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fear. I took slow, deliberate steps across the room, careful to edge my way around Victor and the kids without touching any of them. I waited for him to reach out, to put his hand on my arm or give me a reassuring look. But he didn’t make eye contact and made no move to touch me, either.
Back in our bedroom, I sat in the chair at the end of our bed and reached into my purse. I pulled out the engagement ring I still kept with me, and even wore when I wasn’t around the kids. Tears filled my eyes, and it was only then that it finally struck me what the prickly sensation in my body actually was.
In a moment where Victor and I should have stood united, a moment when I needed him to back me up, the feeling that coursed through my veins was something I never believed he would cause. The feeling I felt was betrayal.
* * *
I pretended to be asleep when Victor came to bed a while later. I listened to him undress in the dark, take a quick shower to wash off the scent of the restaurant from his skin, then felt the pressure of his weight on the other side of the mattress as he climbed beneath the covers. Again, he made no move to touch me; he only said my name once, quietly. I lay immobile, turned away from him, regulating my breath so it appeared I was asleep. I knew we needed to talk, but honestly, I was so hurt, I didn’t know what I’d say to him that wouldn’t cause more damage than it would heal.
“Grace?” he said again, louder this time. I released a heavy sigh. There was no way I could pretend I hadn’t