Chapter 11 Matt
matt
My reaction to finding Hope in my bedroom was all out of proportion. I knew it even as I was chewing her out, but I couldn’t seem to dial it down. Seeing her standing there holding my wedding picture had hit some kind of primal button.
I don’t need a shrink to tell me why: I’d fantasized about Hope while I was showering last night, and I felt guilty as hell about it.
When I’d sought release since my wife’s death, I used to conjure up memories of Christine, or think about some anonymous female body part.
I hadn’t fantasized about a specific, living person.
Finding the woman I’d jacked off to the night before standing in my bedroom, holding a picture of Christine and me at our wedding .
. . well, it just set me off. And I didn’t want my daughters to come home and find us in my bedroom together, and to think . . .
I balled my fingers into fists so hard that my fingernails dug into my palms. What the hell was I worried they would think? They were four and five years old, for Christ’s sake! My own dirty mind was creating problems that didn’t exist.
The girls clambered to the top of the stairs, wearing tutus over their leotards, their hair pulled back in ballerina buns. I pulled them both into a tight hug.
“What’s your news?” I asked.
“I’ve got a new loose tooth!” Zoey stepped out of my embrace, opened her mouth, and wiggled an incisor.
I grinned. “Well, the tooth fairy needs to be put on notice.”
“Hey—she’s already here!” Sophie pointed down the hall.
I looked up to see Hope standing in the girls’ bedroom doorway, her face a flaming shade of fuchsia.
She lifted her hand in a little wave. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m really not the tooth fairy.”
“So why are you here?” Zoey asked.
Damn good question. I decided to let Hope answer it herself.
“Your, um, grandmother asked me to come take a look at your bedroom and see about painting a mural.”
Zoey cocked her head at a quizzical angle. “What’s a mural?”
“A painting on a wall. I understand you want your room to look like a castle.”
“Yay!” Both girls jumped up and down and squealed.
“What’s the cause for celebration?”
I turned to see Jillian standing at the top of the stairs, with Peggy behind her.
“Hope’s gonna paint our bedroom like a castle!” Sophie announced.
Jillian’s lips pulled tight. It was an expression Christine used to make—a mix of displeasure and worry.
It was gone so fast I wondered if I’d imagined it, but it tapped into a reflexive, vestigial husband part of me that immediately dumped an I-need-to-fix-this rush of adrenaline into my bloodstream.
The additional adrenaline only served to exacerbate my irritation, but now it focused on Jillian.
Damn it. Why did she always have to be around, with those ghostly little micro-expressions and Christine-like body parts and other creepy similarities to my wife?
“How lovely.” Jillian was smiling at Hope, but the curve of her mouth looked forced. “But how will you find the time while caring for your grandmother?” Her tone was innocuous, but the implied judgment was hard to miss.
It wasn’t lost on Hope, judging from the way she wrapped her arms around herself and stiffened. “Gran, uh, has home health aides around the clock.”
“Adelaide volunteered her, and I talked Hope into accepting the job,” Peggy said, coming up the final stair and joining us at the top of the landing. “Hope can’t spend all of her time cooped up in that house or she’ll go crazy.”
“No one told me anything about it,” Jillian said.
Because it’s none of your business. The thought made me feel unkind and petty.
“Did you bring your paints?” Sophie asked.
Hope shook her head. “First I need to talk to you and find out exactly what you want. Then I’ll draw a sketch, then I’ll make any changes you want, and when everyone agrees, then we’ll get started on the actual walls.”
This induced another round of girlish jumping and squealing.
“Well.” Jillian gave a tight smile. “I’ll go start dinner.”
“Thanks, but no need,” I said. “I’m going to fire up the grill.”
“Hamburgs?” Sophie asked eagerly.
“Yeah.”
“Yay!” From Sophie’s standpoint, it was shaping up to be a perfect evening.
“I can make a salad,” Jillian said.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it covered.”
Silence hung heavy in the air.
“Maybe Jillian can join us,” Zoey said.
I swallowed. “I thought we’d have a quiet night with just the three of us.”
“It can be quiet with Jillian, too,” Zoey said.
Peggy turned to Jillian. “Dad and I were hoping you’d have dinner with us. We’re going to Covington to Del Porto. You said you wanted to try the place.”
Relief flooded through me. I sent her a silent thanks for the bailout.
“Sure,” Jillian said. “Sounds lovely.”
“Well, then, let’s leave these folks in peace and let Hope talk to the girls about what they want.”
Peggy hugged the girls, then kissed me on the cheek. Jillian followed suit. I tensed as she approached me. Had Jillian always kissed me hello and good-bye, or was this a new development? I wasn’t sure. I only knew that lately I’d become uneasy with it, but I didn’t know how to stop it.
I caught the scent of her perfume as she moved in. A band squeezed around my chest. Good God—she was wearing Clinique’s “Happy,” the same scent Christine used to wear.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed, either. “You smell like Mommy,” Zoey said.
Jillian patted her cheek. “Well, I’m the next best thing.”
The answer made me irrationally angry. There was no next best thing. No one was like Christine—not even close. And the fact Jillian was trying just made me crazy.
I drew a deep breath and held it until she and Peggy had made their way down the stairs and out the door. I blew it out in a heavy sigh.
“You okay, Daddy?” Zoey asked.
“Sure.” Zoey could be way too perceptive. I forced a smile and ruffled her hair. “I’m going to start the burgers. Why don’t you and Sophie tell Hope what you want your room to look like?”
With that, I headed downstairs, drawing my first easy breath since arriving home.