Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Jessa
The smell of bacon rouses me out of a deep sleep.
My eyes flutter open, and for a second I don’t know the ceiling above me, the heavy curtains, the weight of a mattress much better than mine.
Then it comes back, all of it. The festival, the poison, the drive out here.
I’m up and moving before my feet find their slippers.
I make my way to Mia’s room, and when I throw the door open, my daughter’s name dies on my tongue. She’s not there. The bed is disheveled as if nobody bothered to make it. The sounds of pans clanging downstairs has me hurrying down the steps. But as soon I enter the kitchen, I freeze.
It looks like a war zone. Every burner’s going, a carton of eggs sits open with two shells crushed beside it, and flour’s all over the counter, though nothing on the stove needs flour.
Marcus stands at the stove in a gray T-shirt, sleeves shoved up his forearms, prodding at a pan.
And at the table, between him and the window, sit both girls.
Mia’s awake.
My knees nearly buckle. She’s pale, a blanket around her shoulders, but her eyes are open and clear, and she’s watching Bella draw something on a napkin. Then she turns her head and sees me.
“Morning, Mom.” She smiles.
I cross the kitchen and have her in my arms before the word’s finished. She’s warm, breathing against my neck, her hair smelling of someone else’s shampoo, and I hold her until she squirms.
“How do you feel?” I pull back and search her face. “Are you okay? Tell me the truth.”
“I’m okay.” She yawns wide enough to crack her jaw. “Just really, really tired. Can I eat and then go back to sleep?” Her expression scrunches. “Can I skip school today?”
“It’s Saturday, baby.”
“Oh.” She brightens. “Then can we have a sleepy day in?”
Marcus looks over from the stove. “What’s a sleepy day in?”
Bella’s already leaning across the table. “Yeah, what is it?”
“It’s when you push the couches together,” Mia explains, warming to it, “and you make a giant nest with all the blankets, and you watch movies and snuggle and order pizza and don’t get dressed the whole day.”
“That,” Marcus says, “sounds like an excellent plan.” He points the spatula at Bella. “You want in?”
Bella bounces in her chair. “Yes. Yes, I want a sleepy day in.”
“Not right now.” I smooth Mia’s hair back. “Right now I want you in an actual bed, sleeping, with nobody bothering you.”
“Mom.” Mia droops. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”
“I’ll lie down with you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Let her have the day she’s asking for.” Marcus says it quietly, turning a strip of bacon. “It’s what makes her feel safe. She needs that more than she needs undisturbed sleep.”
I glance at him. He’s not wrong, and it irritates me how fast he calmed her down when I couldn’t.
“But before that”—he comes to stand beside me—“let’s all eat. I made breakfast.”
As I help with the plates, I whisper, “You should’ve gotten me when Mia woke up.”
Marcus smiles. “You were tired. And I was here to handle the two of them.”
He carries the eggs to the table, and I stare after him, my heart feeling strange.
Last night what he said to me, I’ve forgotten it.
But as I watch him help Mia pick an egg with the yolk intact, I feel a stirring of longing inside me.
What would it be like if I said yes? Would weekends be like this?
Would the house be filled with noise and activity and laughter?
Isn’t that something I always wanted, growing up? A full house?
Marcus is not shying from his intentions. But he’s not pushing me either. If he was, it would have been easier to fight him on this. But this man is clever and sneaky. Under those charming smiles lurks a sly fox who knows exactly how to get his way.
We eat. Or the girls eat while I push food around and watch Mia to be sure she keeps it down. And I watch Marcus because I can’t stop myself. He’s so careful with her, so gentle. He was right, I realize. He doesn’t differentiate between either of them. He treats Bella and Mia the same.
He refills Mia’s juice before she can ask for it. When she struggles with the butter knife, he spreads the butter on the toast for her. Mia is also clinging to him today. When she wants something, she asks him, rather than me. Almost as if she feels secure with him.
I catch Bella watching it too. She’s gone quiet, her drawing forgotten, her eyes moving between Mia and her uncle. I know that look. I was that kid plenty, the one nobody thought to include. While Marcus isn’t ignoring her, today he’s a bit more attentive toward my daughter.
So I put all my attention on Bella. I ask about her drawing, admire the lopsided horse, ask which pieces she likes best on the plate. She lights up, chattering, and her shoulders relax.
“Jessa?” Bella tips her head at me as Marcus clears the table and I cut some fruit for the two girls. “Are you and Mia gonna stay here forever?”
I go still and then murmur, “No, sweetheart. Once Mia’s all better, we’ll go back to our own place.”
She sighs. “I like it better when you’re here. Uncle Marcus is boring.”
“Hey.” Marcus turns from the stove, wounded. “I heard that.”
Bella sticks her tongue out at him.
“I like it here too,” Mia agrees quickly.
“Why don’t you girls pull the sofas together, but do it in the upstairs living room. Not here.” I tilt my head toward the stairs. “We’ll watch some movies.”
The two scamper off, Mia a bit slower.
“Let me help with something.” I move toward Marcus. “You can’t do all of this.”
“You’ve done enough.” His voice is a little hoarse. “Go with the girls.”
“I wanted some more coffee.”
I pour some from the pot into my cup, and Marcus says, “The poison’s not all the way out of her yet. She needs rest, and she needs to keep drinking. Water, juice, anything. It flushes the last of it through.”
“I looked it up.” I lean against the counter. “Wolfsbane. Last night, on my phone. It’s some plant, some old folklore, nothing that explains a kid seizing on the ground.” I watch him. “How do you know so much about a poison the Internet’s never heard of?”
He shuts off the tap. “You’ve lived in cities your whole life, Jessa. There’s a lot about where I come from that you don’t know.”
“Where you come from.” I straighten. “Your people. That’s the second time you’ve said it like that.”
“Now’s not the time for it.” He sets the pan in the rack. “What matters this minute is figuring out who went after those two girls and why.”
“Then let me do the one thing I can do and call the police.”
“I have people. More than the police, faster than the police.” He turns to face me. “I need you to be patient, and I need you to trust me.”
“You keep saying that.” Frustration climbs into my voice. “‘Trust me, trust me.’ I’ve known you a matter of weeks, Marcus. You can’t just keep asking me to hand everything over on faith.”
He crosses the kitchen and stops close, closer than the conversation needs. When he looks at me, his eyes are steady, no charm in them, none of the easy teasing.
“Then don’t trust me.” His voice drops low. “Trust one thing. I would never, in this life or any other, let harm come to Mia. Not for anything. Can you trust that much?”
Something in me goes still.
Because it’s too much. No man swears that about a kid he met a month ago, and for one cold second, I wonder if he knows. The kitchen is silent. I’m no fool. His words are a double-edged sword, but I pretend not to understand.
“Fine,” I say at last, and my voice isn’t as steady as I want. “I’ll trust you with Mia.” I fold my arms. “I still think coming here was a mistake. Nothing like this has ever happened to us. Not once, until this town.”
He doesn’t argue. He busies himself with the coffee maker, spooning grounds, and I watch the set of his shoulders. They’re stiff, bunched, like a man braced against something.
“You want a fresh cup?” he asks. “Yours must be cold.”
I sip my coffee and make a face. “Please.”
He makes two cups. When he hands it over, his fingers brush mine.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.” He sets his own cup down without drinking from it. “I’ve been trying to work out how to—”
The kitchen door opens.
An older man steps through it like he owns the place.
He’s tall, silver through the hair, broad across the chest, with a warm, crinkled face.
My eyes go from him to Marcus and back, and the resemblance is right there in the jaw and the height, both of them built to fill a doorway. They’re clearly family.
He isn’t alone. Sloane comes in behind him, and my jaw tightens before she’s fully through the door. She looks at me, and her lip curls, pleased about something.
“Uncle.” Marcus sounds both surprised and wary. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, Sloane and I were passing by and thought we’d stop and see you.” The older man’s warm eyes settle on me. “And who’s this?”
I open my mouth to say I’m Mia’s mother. But Marcus’s arm comes around my waist and draws me into his side, solid, deliberate, before a syllable’s out.
“She’s at my house early on a Saturday in her nightclothes.” His hand spreads at my hip. “Who do you think she is?”
His uncle’s face cools, the smile staying put while his eyes go hard. “Marcus.”
There’s a warning edge to his voice, and Marcus slides his arm around my waist, pulling me even closer. “I’m afraid you’ve interrupted us. We were about to go to bed.”
I flush, but something tells me to stay silent. It’s in the way Marcus is standing. His body is too stiff even while his tone is pleasant.
“She’s no match for you, Marcus.” His tone stays mild, almost kindly, which makes the words worse. “I’d hoped you’d conduct yourself like a grown man. Not go chasing the first woman you could get your hands on.”
My eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“My private life is no concern of yours.” Marcus’s arm tightens. “What I want to know is why you’ve brought Sloane into my kitchen.”
The uncle looks at me a long moment. “Get out.”