Page 22 of A Shade Too Far
Sadie clattered down the stairs, beelining for the door, her backpack slung over her shoulder.
I ran into the foyer, almost sloshing coffee onto my hand. “Stop right there.”
“Stop what?” Laurent said.
“Not you.” I jerked a finger from Sadie to the stairs. “Sit yourself down this instant.”
“Can’t. Asha’s waiting.” She shrugged, jamming her foot in a canvas sneaker.
“Huh?” Laurent said. “No, come over here now.”
“Not. You.” I kicked Sadie’s other runner out of the way before she could put it on and mouthed, “Sit.”
“Yes. Me.” Laurent made a frustrated noise. “This is your fault.”
I almost dropped the phone. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
“You think I am pranking you?” he said.
Sadie took advantage of my distraction and slipped out the door, hopping into her other shoe.
“Hey!” I bolted after her, still in my pj’s, feeling a warm gush as I bled through my pad. I stopped on the bottom stair of the porch and stomped my foot.
“Sadie May Chu, get your butt back here this instant!” Great. I was officially the crazy neighborhood mom, with bedhead, mismatched pajamas, and waving a mug that read “I Love to Wrap Both My Hands Around It and Swallow.”
Luka Horvat, my super conservative neighbor, looked up from reading the paper on his porch with an annoyed look.
I turned the writing on the mug around to face me. Not everyone shared Jude’s and my sense of humor.
Meantime, my daughter not only ignored me, she achieved a velocity usually only reserved for running from the parking lot to the amusement park when she was younger, practically diving into the car idling across the street.
I narrowed my eyes. That little shit.
Her boss, Asha, a cheerful young woman in her mid-twenties, waved at me through the open window and off they went.
Knock-kneed, I backed into my house, wondering the safest way to get up the stairs without leakage. That’s when I realized that Laurent had been silent this entire time.
I slammed my front door and deposited my empty mug on the small table. “You may elaborate on your groundless accusations now.”
“Are you no longer too busy to listen to how you put my aunt in danger?”
“Such sweet concern for a woman you don’t trust and didn’t want me working for. Also, I didn’t do anything.” I lay on the stairs on my right side, my legs still pressed together, humping my way to the top like a pissed-off inchworm.
“Ah, so you agree. You did nothing and let the dybbuk enthrall some woman after murdering Santiago Torres.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“No? My mistake. Must have been another BS.”
I mimed throttling him, which was harder than it looked while contorting my body up the stairs and willing the geyser in my pants to stop erupting. “Use that slur again and die.”
There was a terse silence.
“That was uncalled for,” he said sincerely. “I apologize.”
“Thank you,” I said stiffly.
“However—”
