Page 78 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
“No, it’s not rude at all. I just…actually I’m new here too.”
“Are you? Well, that’s great! We can get settled in together. It’s a very nice neighborhood, don’t you think? Yes, very quiet. No bad happenings go on, that sort of thing. Did you know? At my last house the person across the street from me rode a motorcycle.”
I paused, unable to come up with a suitable reply to that. I liked things quiet too, but if ever Colin or I brought trouble to the neighborhood, it would be a lot messier than a motorcycle.
“Well, don’t worry your young head about that,” she said. “This is a nice, safe place. And you have a man to watch after you. Yes, that’s right, I’ve seen him coming and going. And what a man, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
I shook my head, but she spoke before I could.
“Yes, he looks very strong, which is always good in a man, I should think. My William was strong too, don’t you know? Well, until the very end, bless his heart. Thirty-two years, it was. Now tell me, how long have you been married?”
She tilted her head at me, her eyes bright with expectation. Motherfucking hell.
Lies ran through my head, as stupid as that would be. Of course she’d find out, and what was the point of that? I couldn’t be ashamed of this. I’d done a lot worse in my life than live with a man who wasn’t my husband.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We aren’t married.”
“Oh.” Now it was her turn to gape like a fish. To her credit she recovered quickly. “You know, that is okay. Don’t you worry your pretty head about that. I know how young people carry on these days
.”
I had a strong suspicion she had no fucking clue how young people carried on these days, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
A squawk from the kitchen knocked me from my daze, and I rushed in with Linda on my heels. Bailey just squealed and kicked, eager to join the conversation. Linda blinked a few times, and then must have decided this was all part of the carrying on.
“Oh, you pretty girl,” she exclaimed to Bailey. “And what is your name?”
Somewhat awkwardly, as if I were interrupting the conversation, I said, “Her name’s Bailey.”
Linda didn’t miss a beat. “Bailey! Beautiful Bailey, is that what they call you? Yes, you are. Yes, you are. Oh, yes, you are.”
Bailey preened.
“You sweet thing. You pretty girl,” Linda cooed.
Bailey offered up a smooshed strawberry chunk atop a chubby palm. I rolled my eyes. The girl sure knew how to work an audience.
“Oh, thank you. Yes, thank you.” Linda accepted the strawberry chunk and held it behind her, where I slipped it from her hand and into the trash can. We grown-ups had to stick together.
Linda turned to me. “Listen, sweetie. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to run. But you know you can come and stop by anytime. I’m a great listener, you know, if you’re ever having problems. Not that you would. You’re such a dear. I’ll see you around.”
As she went through the living room she picked up Mouse, whose long, thick body hung like a pendulum from where she’d clasped him to her chest. And then she was gone through the front door in a whoosh of bouncing auburn-gray curls and fresh air.
“Wow,” I said to Bailey. “That was new.”
“Baba?” She offered me another strawberry bit in her palm, which I accepted and plopped in my mouth.
“Thanks,” I told her, “but I’m much harder to impress. Poop in the potty; then we’ll talk.”
I wiped the red strawberry film off a sleepy baby and carted her upstairs. She drifted off to sleep after the fourteenth verse of “Hush, Little Baby.” And thank goodness too. I’d already promised to buy her a tutu, a tricycle, and a host of other things well beyond her pay grade. Not that Colin would mind. He’d probably buy her a castle if she crooked her pudgy little finger at it.
I shook my head. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand about spoiling her. He wanted to spoil her. It was like some little-boy-lost redemption drama playing out in our own home. The worst thing was that I was probably part of it. Somehow his white-knight radar had settled on the two of us. We made a quaint picture, this family, and I only hoped it would last. However it had started, on a whim or just an accident of fate, I liked to think we’d built something real by now.
Things were good, very good.
Chapter Fifteen
Back downstairs, I prepped the strawberry-rhubarb filling and crumble topping and set it to bake. Then I pulled the clothes from the dryer and into the basket, the warm scent of spring filling the laundry room. A shuffle behind me caught my attention, but before I could turn, I was spun around and slammed into the wall. Struggling to gasp for air, I saw the sneering face of a cop. One of the cops who’d come around earlier, poking around about Colin. Shay, Shat, Shaw—that was it. Detective Fucking Shaw, the asshole.
