At the door, he pauses. His blue eyes take in her slumped position on the couch. His forehead creases. “You’ll be okay?”
She waves a dismissive hand, trying to ignore the hard pump of her heart at the thought of being left alone. “Go, Seth. I’ll be fine.”
He rolls his eyes at the word, then fixes her with a look. “Stay here. Lock the door. Call Sal. I’ll be back in twenty.”
The slam of the door has her jumping. And then Lacey’s up, moving as fast as she can, which, if she really wants to admit, is an embarrassing turtle-crawl.
The doctor said she’d be sore, but sore’s an understatement.
She locks the door. Fires up her laptop. Slips into a chair at the small round table she uses more as a desk than a place to dine. As the laptop rouses from its slumber, Lacey eyes her phone. She groans, her sisterly duty telling her to suck it up, and then she calls Sal.
Her sister answers on the first ring. Breathless. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been so worried. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Lacey says. “I’m out of the hospital and I’m home.”
“I’m so sorry I can’t be there, Lacey.” Sal makes a sound of frustration. “I’m just so, so mad.”
Lacey smiles. “Everyone’s just trying to be extra careful. Make sure that baby stays put.”
“I know.” Sal sighs. “Is Seth taking good care of you at least?”
He always takes good care of me.
The horrifying thought floats through her mind before she can stop it. Lacey fights the urge to gag, to barf the image right out of her brain.
Lacey needles her temple. “He’s being his usual annoying self.”
Sal laughs. “Well, I’m glad he went out there. You needed help.”
Her expression pinches. Never. She’ll never admit it.
Tucking the phone beneath her ear, Lacey clicks into her email, halfheartedly listening as Sal rambles on about bandages and infections and proper wound care.
Shit.
Lacey’s eyes bug at the thirty unread emails. Mostly messages from the caterer and DJ asking about setup start times. All emails she needs to reply to and confirm details.
“I called Dad.”
That takes Lacey from her thoughts. “You got a hold of him?” she asks, rubbing her pinched brow.
“I did.”
Of course she did. He’d answer for Sal.
Lacey’s face burns, fighting that hot wave of resentment, not directed at Sal, never at her sister, but at her father. When Sal went missing, she had to fight the military tooth and nail to make it through the channels to get a note to their overseas-based father. But when Sal calls, he answers. Like their relationship’s always been the perfect father-daughter pair. Like Sal hasn’t hated him for years for cheating on their mother while she was in chemo. But Sal can’t remember, so their father can put on a show for Sal. Call her every few months, pretend he’s a good father, while keeping that detached distance he was always so good at.
“I know Seth leaves tomorrow ...,” Sal ventures. “Dad can’t be there, but ... he said to call Vivian if you need to.”
Lacey’s mind overheats at the mention of her stepmother. “I’ll never call her.”
Vivian, her overbearing tyrant of a stepmother—the Witch Woman is what she and Sal used to call her—is the reason she went to live with Sal and Luke right after they got married.
Lacey examines a long-faded white scar on her knuckle.
One reason at least.
“Okay,” Sal says in that sad, bewildered tone she uses whenever their stepmother gets mentioned.