Page 149 of Crash Course
Badly.
That shaft of light? Might as well have been an axe splitting her skull.
Jeez. How long would this last? She had things to do and lying around in bed all day wouldn’t win her a murder trial. Thankfully, Layla had offered to hold down the fort, including getting things rolling for the move.
Definitely a pay raise coming in Layla's near future.
"Darling?" Mom said, her voice so low Cilla barely heard her.
"Yes?"
"The doorman just buzzed. Your father is downstairs. I was about to send him away, but, well, I don’t want to make that decision for you. What would you like me to do?"
Her mother. Always the reasonable parent. No matter her difficulties with Dad over the years, Mom had never—not once—used Cilla as a weapon.
As a sulky teenager, she hadn’t appreciated it. As an adult who, on the daily, witnessed her father’s annoying behavior, she wasn’t sure how her mother had stayed with him almost fifteen years.
And now, after the scene in the hospital the day before and pressing charges against Cruz, he had the nerve to show up at her home.
"I can’t, Mom."
"That’s fine. I’ll tell him. Try and sleep."
Cilla sunk back into her pillow and closed her eyes again. A vision of her father on his hands and knees admitting to conspiring against her plagued her mind. Absolute venom with no antidote.
And how long wouldthatlast?
No doubt, a long time. The idea of it eating away at her sent the marching band in her head into parade-mode.
She had to get rid of these thoughts. Move on and not let her father’s betrayal tear her apart. But, how?
Before Mom could back out the door, Cilla opened her eyes. "Mom? Wait."
"Yes, dear?"
Slowly sitting up, Cilla peered at her mother, dressed in one of her favorite cashmere lounge sets Cilla had bought her for Christmas last year because she thought the charcoal shade would bring out the green in her mother’s eyes.
She’d been right.
Those eyes, Cilla had noted earlier when they’d left the hospital, now appeared puffy. Tired. Mom had to be exhausted. She’d flown cross-country the night before and had been playing nursemaid all day.
Probably the last thing Mom wanted was to deal with her ex-husband.
Maybe they simply needed to get it over with.
Cilla lifted her palms to her eyes and gently pressed. "Have him come up. I want to speak with him."
"Oh, Cilla. I don’t—"
"It’s fine, Mom. Thinking about it is worse than the headache. I’ll say what I have to and then we’ll be done."
"All right. Do you need help getting out of bed?"
Upon arriving home, Mom had helped her shower and throw on tights and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The ultimate casualwear her father would curl his lip over.
Well, too bad. He’d created this havoc, he could suffer over her choice of clothing.
"I can do it," Cilla said. "Keep your phone close. I'll call if I need you. Would you please crack the curtains though? Just a little so I can see?"
