Instead, I decided it was, indeed, time for me to go.
“It’s not me acting like a spoiled brat,” I replied, giving Killer one last stroke before stooping and dropping her to the floor. “I’m off. We’ll do this some other time.”
And with that, I turned and started toward the door.
Again, it wasn’t about drama.
I had to get out of there.
Because I was shaking.
Actually shaking.
With fury and a lot more besides.
I couldn’t do this, not now. Not after the day with Judge, and Rix (and Zeke).
I couldn’t do it at all, not after…
Everything.
“Chloe, don’t walk away from this. Whatever’s going on, you two need to work it out.”
This was Mom, and I could tell she was following me.
I didn’t break stride as I replied, “Maybe later.”
“She couldn’t suck all the attention to herself if she didn’t attempt a grand exit.”
This was Sasha.
“Sasha, stop it.”
Mom, getting pissed.
“She’s all over Matt to work things out with Dad,” Sasha, who I could tell also had moved, but her voice was distant, so she wasn’t following, but she’d adjusted her position to watch me leave.
And hand her shit to Mom.
“Chloe.” Mom was using her Mom’s Voice. “Wait.”
I opened the door, turned at it, and I was right.
Mom was maybe three feet away, Bowie wasn’t far from her, and Sasha was across the foyer, standing in the entryway to the great room with her arms crossed on her chest and an ugly expression twisting her face.
I looked to Mom. “I’ll call.”
“I know that Matt’s breach with your dad is hard for all of us, and I know you always come from a place of caring, but how about you let your dad and me worry about that?” Mom suggested.
“Oh no, not Chloe,” Sasha called. “She has to stick her nose into everything, tell everyone what to do, how to think, how to be. She even turned Sully and Gage against Matt and me.”
I mean, seriously?
Was she five?
The dogs had started moving with agitation around us, Rocco and Killer coming in and out of the opened door, but Shasta remained outside, barking.
I ignored all of this, such was my fury at my sister’s crap.
“Sully and Gage are in this?” Bowie asked.
“Not really,” I evaded.
Vaguely, I heard a car door slam, and another one, and Bowie shifted so he could crane his neck to look out the front door.
Sasha dropped her arms, moved forward, and said to Bowie, “They totally are.” Then to me, “You dragged them in with your bullshit version of what’s going on.”
Now who was lying?
“I did nothing of the sort,” I snapped.
“And you know, Matt and I get it. Where you’re coming from. Why you’re so staunchly on Dad’s side,” Sasha declared.
“Sasha—” Bowie tried to cut in.
“And you should thank us,” Sasha went on resentfully, after coming to a stop fully entering our tableau by the door. She too, glanced out the door before looking back at me and saying, “For not telling Sul and Gage why you get it. How you know exactly what it’s like to be a cheater. Because with that married guy in France, you were one.”
Mom went still.
Bowie went still.
I suffered a death blow.
And through it, I whispered to my sister, “You know that’s not right.”
She did.
She totally did.
I saw the guilt and shame fill her face the instant the words left her mouth.
This was because I’d cried my heart out over the phone to her after that happened to me.
And I knew she hadn’t forgotten a second of it.
It didn’t take the resurrection of Freud to diagnose she was dealing with her own shit.
And I cared.
I really, really did.
I also worried.
A whole lot.
But one thing I knew was never to bury someone else in my shit.
And never to allow someone to bury me in theirs.
And she’d just done that.
Buried me under her shit.
In front of Bowie.
I told Mom (almost) everything, so Mom already knew about it.
But she said that in front of Bowie.
“We’re done,” I proclaimed, my voice stone cold.
The wave of concern from Mom and Bowie’s direction hit me so hard, it was a miracle I didn’t fly sideways.
Sasha’s face became a mask of fear.
And I completely lost my renowned cool.
“We’re done!” I shrieked.
“Chloe!” Mom cried, reaching to me.
But I whirled and swayed to a halt before I even began to beat my retreat.
Because Judge and Rix were standing in the open door, staring at me.
They’d heard.
God!
They’d heard!
I planted a foot and then launched off it, racing around Judge and down the front steps.
“Chloe!” Mom shouted.
I got to the door of my car, and I ripped it open, absently noting the Cherokee parked behind it.
Before I could position myself in it, my door slammed shut in front of me.
“Baby,” Judge whispered in my ear.
That one word, his tone, it slid from my ear over my scalp, my face, into my eyes, blinding me, filling my mouth, muting me.