“So don’t.” He looked at me as if I were a halfwit. “Just get the hell out of mybedroom.”
“Oh!” I set the photo down, accidentally tipping it over. I tried to right it and fumbled.
He snatched it from me. “For God’s sake—go back to the girls’ room.Now!”
I scampered out the door, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process, and flew down the hallway.
“Daddy, where are you?”
“Up here, girls!” His tone was completely different. He sounded easygoing, friendly—nice.
Multiple feet charged up the stairs like a tiny herd of rhinos. “I got news!” called a girl’s voice.
“I can’t wait to hear it.” His voice held no trace of the snarl I’d received a moment earlier.
I stood in the pink bedroom, my heart pounding, and listened to the scamper of feet. I drew several deep breaths, trying to calm myself, feeling guilty as a burglar.
11
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.
