Chapter Nine
“I was trying to make things easier for you, Josie.” Gloria sighed and everyone but her winced.
Gloria’s sighs scraped away at Josie’s confidence like a dull blade peeling the skin of a fruit. Every so often they pulled up a chunk of tender flesh and the wounds would weep for hours, sometimes days afterward.
Josie tried floating away from her body as she spoke, looking down at the group of figures huddled in the Beech Room at Amos’s daycare. Amos in his puffy yellow jacket and purple hat looked like a mushroom surrounded by a flock of adults in drab-colored coats.
“I’m sorry you were inconvenienced, Gloria, but it helps me,” Josie said, “and all of us at the center, when we are consistent with the pickup and drop-off protocol.”
When Mr. Tim and Miss Alysha nodded in approval, Josie knew she’d pulled it off and had come across as calm and reasonable. None of the adults in Amos’s life could know Josie was sometimes seconds away from screaming in a fear-fueled rage.
Gloria had her suspicions, though. That’s why she pulled shit like waltzing into Amos’s daycare class without calling ahead and trying to bully the staff into letting her take Amos without permission.
Yes, they had switched nights so Amos could go to a hockey game with his grandparents, but the pickup was supposed to happen at home, not at daycare.
Miss Alysha had not been happy when she called Josie at work to explain why Amos couldn’t be whisked away unexpectedly.
“It’s silly. It’s not as though I am a stranger. I am his grandmother. I take Amos all the time,” Gloria complained.
Mr. Tim’s jaw clenched at the artificial sweetness stretching Gloria’s voice into a tinny sort of whine.
“The rules are the same for everyone, Mrs. Donovan,” Miss Alysha said. “No child leaves without a parent’s permission and three hours’ advance notice. This is how we keep our children safe.”
Miss Alysha had no time for women like Gloria.
Josie wished she had a piece of whatever it was—disdain? disinterest?—buffering Miss Alysha and keeping her from apologizing when she’d done nothing wrong.
“Well, I don’t know what’s more upsetting for Amos. Watching you treat his grandmother like a criminal or keeping him imprisoned until his mommy comes to free him.”
Judging from Miss Alysha’s clenched fist, it was lucky for Gloria one of the kids spilled a jar of paint and defused the tension.
Josie apologized again to Mr. Tim and planted a series of loud raspberry kisses on Amos’s cheeks as she collected his belongings from his cubby and walked him to Gloria’s car.
Dan’s dad, Al, sat in the front seat of the leased Buick listening to a call-in sports show.
He nodded at Josie and gave Amos a thumbs-up but said nothing.
Gloria spoke for them both.
Josie stood for a while in the parking lot after watching the squinting red eyes of the Buick’s taillights as the car drove away.
She vacillated between an after-work stop at the wine store or Donuts Delite.
Neither method of settling her nerves after a Gloria encounter was on any list of healthy ways to self-soothe, but Josie hadn’t even learned what those words meant until she was twenty-one years old.
Sugar and alcohol had been the go-to pacifiers for generations of LaChiusas, and Josie was all about keeping tradition alive.
The wintery smell of dirty snow and wet pavement did nothing to improve her mood.
By the time Josie reached her building, brown bag and white box in hand, she’d given up on mantras and positive self-talk.
She’d made a quick stop at the campus bookstore earlier and scored a package guaranteed to take her mind off everything—at least until the wine and sugar did its thing.
Nothing hit like a new Ali Hazelwood novel.
“Where is the boy?”
Josie jumped and almost peed her pants. When she’d entered the building, she would have sworn the lobby was empty.
“Um, hello?” Josie said, craning her head and still not seeing anyone. “Did you mean my son?”
“What other boy could there be?”
A stack of packages next to the mailbox shuddered, then fell, revealing Denis. The Menace.
“Hello, Denis,” she said, knowing her smile looked weird but unable to summon a genuine grin. “How are you?”
Denis’s nose twitched, sending the white hairs in his nostrils aflutter. “I am alive.”
Among the conditions the man suffered, one gave his skin the oddest gray coloring. Almost like a river rock: smooth and weirdly nonporous. Denis stomped around the fallen boxes without bothering to pick them up.
“Where is the boy?” he asked again. “Why isn’t he with you?”
For a kid with a crappy upbringing, Josie’s manners had always been a curiosity to folks, but her politeness and avoidance of conflict were a survival strategy.
A way to deflect any unwelcome attention and keep her out of the crosshairs of the sadistic men and women who were drawn to children’s services.
Not all of them, but a lot of social workers, juvenile court officers, and “counselors” got off on the power they possessed. Far more power than the average adult has over a child. Unwanted and lost, kids in the American child services system had less agency than a stray dog in some states.
So, while Josie wanted to tell Denis the way he looked at her and the way he called Amos “the boy” were creepy, she deflected. Gesturing to the lobby doors, she backed up to the stairs, hoping Denis would look away from her.
“He’s with his grandparents,” she said. “Off to a hockey game at the arena.”
Denis’s squinty gaze remained fixed on Josie. “You sent the child away to a game that glorifies violence? With elderly folk to guard him?”
“I didn’t send him away.” Josie’s nerves snapped and crackled beneath her skin, frayed into a buzzing tangle by Gloria’s stunt and the anxiousness creeping into her belly at the thought of a long night alone.
Her words came out too fast and too sharp.
“His grandparents are taking him to a hockey game. That is perfectly normal. Normal families do it all the time.”
Denis raised one eyebrow at her tone and Josie closed her fist against the urge to flip him off.
“Denis.”
The ice in Maddy’s voice slid beneath Josie’s ribs like a blade and Denis sucked in a breath and turned around quickly. Not before Josie caught an expression of real fear on his face.
Josie hadn’t noticed the door to the employees-only room opening, but in the doorway now stood Maddy. Directly behind her was Pax, his arm casually placed on the wall next to her head.
Not a single thread of Maddy’s outfit was out of place. There was no reason for the rash of jealousy breaking out on the back of Josie’s neck at the sight of the two together.
Except…
What did the two of them do in that office? Why was the door always closed?
One of the radiators hissed and a network of pipes below clanged as though someone were smacking them with a hammer.
Maddy’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Josie, and for some reason, Pax’s ears went bright red.
“What do you want?” Denis asked Maddy. Surly as a teenage boy being told not to throw rocks at cats, he set his hands on his hips.
Josie had seen his fear, though. His bravado was flimsy at best.
“I’d like to discuss the unauthorized changes you’ve made to your apartment,” said Maddy.
Josie hoped for some tears, but Denis was made of sterner stuff. His feet slid slowly across the floor as if he were compelled but he managed to keep his gaze on Maddy’s face until he walked past her into the office.
Pax set his hand on Maddy’s shoulder for a second, perhaps as a gesture of solidarity before he came out into the lobby and picked up some of the fallen boxes, checking the addresses and dividing them into stacks.
The metallic smack of the office door behind Maddy and Denis echoed against the walls and Josie groped for her bearings.
Something was not normal in this building.
Pax glanced over at her, frowning. Again, again Josie hoped he couldn’t hear her thoughts.
“Did Denis say anything inappropriate?” he asked.
What was she supposed to say?
“Why? Is there a building fine for being creepy?” Josie tried for flippant but knew she’d failed when Pax let the box in his hands drop to the floor without flinching.
“What did he say?” The question rolled from his throat like a growl and goddamn if it wasn’t the sexiest sound she’d ever heard.
“He…” Josie cleared her throat. Good God, why was she blushing? “He was asking about Amos. It’s a little strange.”
Pax did not seem appeased. He picked up the box he’d dropped and stared at it for a beat.
“This is yours,” Pax said. “I will carry it for you.”
He held a pink box in his hand and Josie’s blush heated even more. That was her romance book club box. The logo was emblazoned across the top in bright gold font.
Would he think she was pathetic? Horny? Pathetically horny?
Before Josie could blink, he was at her side, the box tucked under one arm. He held out his other hand toward her as if asking her to dance and she stared at his palm, frozen with indecision until he reached out and took the box of donuts from her clawed hand.
Oh. So. Not dancing. Cool, cool.
His jaw set, Pax walked up the stairs and Josie followed. Without saying a word, Pax stopped at her front door. He planned to come inside, that was obvious from the iron grip he had on her box.
One might describe his manner as commanding. Especially if one read the kinds of books included in Josie’s book box.
Pax followed Josie inside, placed her book box on the tiny end table next to the door, walked down the hallway a few feet, and turned into the kitchen. She waited a beat before following him, her heart pounding for no good reason. Even though she knew they were red, she set her palms to her cheeks.
Whatever was happening with her body must be messing with her eyes, because the hallway sconces threw off a softer golden light than her long-lasting light bulbs should have done.