Chapter 23
Goldie
Davis seethes silently during the thirty-minute drive to Walmart in the bigger town close by, where Dr. Patel had sent my prescription. Though I was initially upset that he had walked out of my appointment without explaining himself, it gave Dr. Patel and me the opportunity to discuss birth control options without him butting in or trying to tell me what to do.
Dr. Patel had also locked the door in case Davis did decide to come back so that she could talk to me about domestic violence and whether or not Lily and I are safe with him. As irritating and bullheaded as the man can be, I told her with one hundred percent certainty that we were safe and happy with Davis. More than happy. In love . And if we weren’t…well, I’ve kept up with my target practice, though I didn’t tell her that part.
When we pull into the Walmart parking lot, I slam the truck gear in park and jump out, damn near running across the lot as it starts to sprinkle to get as far away from Davis as quickly as possible. I don’t think he’d chase me down while holding Lily to haul me over his shoulder in public, but I’m not taking any chances.
To my luck, Davis stays with Lily in the idling truck. I slow my stride when I enter the busy store, find the pharmacy, and impatiently wait in line. The young pharmacist’s hijab matches her pink-framed glasses, which she pushes up her nose as she types my information into her computer when it’s my turn at the counter.
“Cash or card?” she asks, bagging my prescription.
“Son of a bitch,” I hiss, patting my pockets. “I left my money”—and by money , I mean Davis —“in the truck. I’ll be right back.”
I’m steaming mad as I stomp through the rain falling harder now across the lot, dreading the smug look Davis is going to give me. He’s already moved over to the driver’s side, and yup. Smug.
I yank on the door handle, and when it doesn’t open, I rap my knuckles on the window. “Open the door.”
He rolls the window down a few inches, smiling from ear to ear. “You forget something, baby?”
I set my hand on my hip and hold my other palm up. “I need money.”
“‘Fraid I’m fresh out,” he drawls. “I only brought enough for the doctor’s appointment.”
Bullshit . I take a calming breath so I don’t start yelling. “Then give me your card.”
Davis shakes his head. “Can’t. Left it at home.”
“All of them?”
“Yup.”
I stomp my boot on the cracked asphalt. I know he’s lying, but I’m not strong enough to force him to hand over his wallet. If Lily weren’t with us, I could maybe tempt Davis into some kind of trade. I bet a middle-of-the-day blow job would do the trick. My core clenches with a thrill at the thought. But since that isn’t an option…
I crack open the back door, surprised that it’s unlocked, and lunge across the seat to the other side. I grab Lily’s diaper bag from the footwell beneath her car seat and rifle through it with growing frustration.
I sit up on my knees to lean over the middle to get in Davis’s face. “You took my phone out of the diaper bag, didn’t you?” Now, I can’t even pay with my wallet app.
“Yup.” He pops the P , throws the truck in drive, and speeds out of the lot fast enough for the back door to swing closed on its own.
“Davis, goddamnit!” I fall back, cursing up a storm as I buckle myself in.
He chuckles. “That’s four, baby. Keep it up.”
Davis
I’m flying high the whole way home, blessed by green light after green light. If the universe is on my side, I’ll get home fast enough to transfer Lily, who fell asleep while we were waiting for Goldie in the store, from her car seat to her crib so I can have my way with her mama.
My dick is a steel rod in my jeans as I make the turn onto our driveway, but spotting the pair sitting on our porch swing kills my boner in an instant.
Goldie leans forward after unbuckling her seat belt, peering through the windshield. “Who are they?” There’s a slight tremble to her voice, anticipating some kind of trouble.
She’d be right.
I sigh. “That’s my sister. I don’t know who the guy is.”
“What is she doing here?”
“Guess she changed her mind.” At this point, though, I’m not sure if I even want her here.
The pair stand when we get out of the truck and meet them on the front porch after hustling through the rain, with Goldie holding a swaddling blanket draped over Lily so she doesn’t get wet. My sister, with her sandy brown hair cut in a short bob, and I don’t embrace, though, of course, I have the impulse to do so. Neither of us smiles, and Goldie and the man shift around in the awkward atmosphere.
The first thing Amanda says is, “My key doesn’t work.” She stands almost six feet tall, taking after our dad’s side of the family, in a light gray pantsuit that I can’t imagine was all that comfortable on the airplane. She’s replaced the western boots she grew up wearing with pointy-toe, sleek black boots with heels.
I nod. “We had new keypad locks installed yesterday. Better security.”
“What’s the code?”
I almost open my mouth to tell her, but then her green eyes slide to Goldie on my left, tightening a fraction. I circle Goldie’s back to pull her close and point out the obvious. “It’s not your house anymore.” I bought her out after Dad left it to the both of us, though I hadn’t changed the locks ‘til now.
Her eyes drop, and her top lip curls slightly. “What’s on your shirt?”
“Baby shit.”
She raises a thin brow, looking at the baby in question.
The man with her, who’d been eyeing our exchange with growing concern, leans forward and sticks his hand out. “Hi, I’m Vincent. It’s nice to finally meet you, Davis.” He’s an inch or two shorter than Amanda in her heels, with an olive complexion, meticulously styled black hair, and a severe jawline. His brown eyes and deep voice are soft, however, when we shake hands.
“And you’re Amanda’s…?” The question lingers in the air as I look from him to Amanda and back again.
“Boyfriend,” he finally answers. Amanda makes a face that I can’t interpret, and Vincent shifts his attention to my side with pinched brows after shooting Amanda a questioning gaze at her silence. “You’re Goldie, I presume?” He sticks his hand out to her while Amanda tightens her grip on her designer travel bag.
“Marigold, yes,” she says, briefly shaking his hand. I didn’t think I was a petty person, but it pleases me something awful that she hasn’t given them leave to call her Goldie , unlike me and our friends. It has to be earned, and these two haven’t done so yet.
After another awkward moment in which the women look like they’re deciding whether or not to shake hands, Goldie steps past me to the front door to punch in the code. “Why don’t y’all come on in,” she says, holding the door open.
It feels both natural and bizarre having Amanda step into the house. This is where she grew up. It used to be her home as much as mine. But she’s been gone longer than she lived in this town, so she feels like a stranger.
As for Goldie, it feels wholly natural that she leads Vincent into the kitchen with the offer of making tea or coffee, even though she’s only lived here for a little over six weeks.
Amanda is still clinging to her bag, standing in the entryway next to Vincent’s black carry-on luggage as she scrutinizes the living room, cataloging the changes I’ve made since Dad passed. I look around as if seeing it for the first time, heartened to see the portable diaper changing station Goldie set up in the living room, along with one of Lily’s baby blankets thrown over the arm of the recliner. Best of all is the photo of Lily in her pink ball cap now hanging next to the front door.
I clear my throat. “How long will you be staying in town?”
“Until Friday.”
I nod, my heart thumping at the possibility that she wants to work on our relationship if she’s planning on coming to the wedding. “And you’re staying here? At the house?”
“Yes.” As if it’s an afterthought, she says, “If that’s alright with you.”
I smile internally, hearing her accent poke through her otherwise crisp pronunciations when she says alright .
“If it’s alright with Goldie, then it’s alright by me.”
She stiffens but nods. I grab the handle of Vincent’s rolling luggage and lead her into my old bedroom, glad we have a spare bed available for the two of them.
Just before I leave her to get settled in, I turn and say, “I’m glad you could make it.”
For a moment, I think she’s not going to answer, but then she says in a low voice, “Me too.”