Things We Didn't Say - By Kristina Riggle Page 0,92
snatch it out of her hand, but she thrusts it into her back pocket. I can’t tackle her for it now, not with Jewel bouncing on the couch next to us.
“Hey, J. Don’t bounce on the couch with candy in your mouth.”
“Oh, leave her alone,” Mallory says, waving at Jewel.
“Where did you get that?”
“It rang in the pocket of your coat when you got back from your smoke break.”
“You have no right.”
She smirks at me. “I don’t care if I do or not.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Does Mike know about him?”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough for her.
She folds her arms and smiles at me like a predator, all teeth. “It won’t matter then, who he is. Michael, if you haven’t noticed, is a bit of a prude about things. I tried to remove the stick from his ass for seventeen years and couldn’t do it. So, good luck with explaining to him why you kept this innocent friendship a secret.”
And I’m back to Thursday morning again, the hope of a life with Michael and his kids whirling down the drain. I look down at my ring. It catches the bright light bouncing off the snow outside the window.
She’s right. Michael grants no mercy. There is right and wrong and lying is wrong and hiding the truth is just as bad.
My heart swells up, and my eyes dart around the room of this house, which now that I’m about to lose it again is not so much drafty and old but inviting and homey, with its archways and moldings, and the kids’ things scattered around like leaves on an autumn lawn.
A hard thud in the living room draws my attention, and I see Jewel on the floor.
She’s flopping like a fish, eyes bulging and mouth in a large O, but she makes not a sound.
I grab Jewel from behind around her waist, hold my fist at the base of her rib cage, and start thrusting. I’m dimly aware of feet pounding down the steps, frantic shouting.
Jewel is thrashing in my arms, panicky.
“Honey, I’ve got you,” I say. “Hang on.”
I thrust again, again.
The candy shoots out, bulletlike, and skitters across the floor. Jewel makes a huge gasp, then coughs, and gasps some more between terrified sobs.
Jewel turns in to me and throws her arms around my neck.
I close my eyes and hold her, letting her tears soak my shirt, and I cry on her hair, and we cling together in a wet embrace. The door flings open and there’s shouting and hysteria between Mallory and Michael, but I’m not listening. I’m holding Jewel and crying for what was almost lost to everyone, and is still lost to me.
Michael takes her from my arms, and I let him. She belongs to him, after all. Not me. His coat is still cold from his walk outside. He shrugs out of it awkwardly, trying to hold Jewel at the same time, while Mallory frets, uselessly smoothing Jewel’s hair, straightening her glasses.
I notice Angel and Dylan standing under the living room archway. Dylan’s face is grim and hard, and he’s got one arm around Angel’s shoulders; they are nearly the same height. They’ve grown so much in just the two years I’ve known them. In two more years, when I’m barely a memory, a blip in some snapshots, they’ll be practically adults.
Michael has lowered down onto the couch, where Jewel cuddles up on his lap. Mallory kneels at Michael’s feet to get a look into her daughter’s tear-streaked face. Red sticky goo from the jawbreaker had leaked out of her mouth and caked on her chin. I go into the kitchen to fetch a wet towel.
I start to wipe Jewel’s chin, but Mallory snatches the towel from me to do it herself.
“What happened?” Michael finally says.
“She was jumping on the couch with a candy in her mouth,” I tell him evenly. “She must have fallen, and it got caught in her throat.”
“Why did you let her do that?” he says. He’s actually asking me that question. Me. The one who did the Heimlich and saved her life.
“I didn’t.” I weigh what to say next. I could swallow my words and say nothing. I could stay neutral, I could even tacitly accept responsibility. But no. I’ve been doing that all along. Much good as that’s done me. “Your ex-wife thought it was a great idea, though.”
“How dare you!” she shouts, leaping to her feet. “I told her to stop doing it just before she fell.”