I didn’t have time to say anything else as the waitress hurried over to speak with us. When we were finally alone again the subject drifted from my father to other things. It wasn’t hard to switch the focus of her talk. Soon we were having a deep conversation about the latest episode of a reality show.
We finished lunch a little after three in the afternoon and I donned my designer shades and headed to my car. I was barely out of the parking lot when my phone rang. When I saw my mother’s name, I rolled my eyes and declined the call. She wasn’t going to ruin my day because she didn’t have a brain in her head.
Shopping with Susan was precisely what the doctor ordered—new shoes, a few new dresses and a laptop later, I headed for home. I’d be a little late for dinner but that only meant I would miss a bit of the forced conversation and awkward silences. For years, my mother had been forcing us to eat together at least one night per night. I didn’t see the point—the two of them together in the same room threatened to drive me insane with the lack of love I felt between them.
I couldn’t ever remember them being in love.
But when I arrived home, the house was dark except for the kitchen. I ignored it and headed up the stairs for a quick shower. By the time I returned, the light was out and there was no dinner.
“Randy?” I called for our chef. “Beatrice?”
“I fired them.” My mother’s voice was cold from behind me.
I shifted to face her. “You fired them? Who is going to make my food and clean up around here?”
“You have two hands!” Mom snapped. “Cook your own god-damn food or starve!” She turned to leave then paused. “By the way, they found your father’s car. There was blood in it. But hope your shopping was fun.”
She left me stunned into silence. Mom had given me a bunch of information I didn’t need or care about. I still didn’t understand why the servants were gone and I had to make my own food.
It shouldn’t be that hard.
I opened the fridge and looked in. Everything seemed so foreign, so strange. I poked a raw chicken leg and recoiled as my body heaved.
“Nope.” I closed the fridge and ordered a pizza.
I jerkedupright in bed as a loud bang caught my attention. Lilah looked up, yawned and rolled over. Before I knew what was happening, she fell asleep on her back with her legs wide open. I frowned and was about to flop back to my pillows when the sound echoed through the house once more. I climbed from my bed, grabbed my robe and hurried out of my room while pushing my arms into it. I rushed down the stairs to find my mother standing in the semi-dark, staring at the door.
“For god’s sakes!” I tried rushing by her.
Mom grabbed my arm. “Don’t get that.” She growled in a whisper.
Whoever was out there kept right on slamming their fist into the door a bit longer, then an ignition started. The sound wandered father away from the house until there was nothing but silence.
Mom released my arm and turned for the steps.
“Mom, what’s going on? Who was that?”
“Suddenly you care—what a surprise.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Whatever the hell you want it to mean.” Mom replied. She paused her climb to look at me. “Go back to your designer bullshit. FYI, spend your money wisely. There isn’t any more.”
“Wait—what?”
“I’m going to bed.” She tossed over her shoulder.
“Who was at the door?”
“Demons your father brought back from Colombia.” She disappeared down the hall at the top of the stairs and I crumbled to the steps.
What was going on?
Demons from Colombia?
When did my father go to Colombia? And even if he did have a job there, he’s a government contractor. He built things for them, not fight wars. How did he bring back demons?
I managed to pull myself together enough to follow my mother. She was in the master bedroom furiously rummaging through dad’s walk-in safe. As I entered, I realized she was muttering under her breath, flipping things out over her shoulders.
