Verity takes a last drag of her smoke, then drops it on the driveway and crushes it under her foot. “Where’s the kid?”
Brielle. Her name’s Brielle. “She’s brushing her teeth. She’ll be out in a minute.”
And then, by the grace of all that’s fuckin’ holy, Brielle and Henri walk out the door. Brielle looks like Brielle again thank god. She’s carrying her pack. “Hi mom,” she says as she approaches.
Verity nods. “Got everything?”
“I made sure she did,” Henri interjects like a mother hen.
Verity ignores her. To Brielle, she says, “Let’s go before you’re late.”
“Bye,” Brielle says to Henri as she makes her way around to the passenger side. “See you tonight.”
Verity raises her eyebrows. “Tonight?”
“It was your idea,” Henri says defensively. “Brielle has to stay with me until I go home. Remember?”
Henri has a way of cornering people so they have no choice but to accede to her will. “I remember,” Verity grunts. “She’ll be at the clubhouse after school.”
“Then so will I,” Henri replies without so much as a glance at me to see if that’s the plan.
“Jesus,” Verity mutters as she gets in the car. “Glad she’s yours, not mine.”
Can’t argue with that.
As Verity backs out of the driveway, Brielle waves enthusiastically.
“I like her,” Henri observes. “Six, not her mom. Verity’s not very nice.”
“She’s okay,” I lie.
“Not like my mom, who’s pretty good.”
That’s a ringing endorsement coming from Henri. I think about telling her that we’re trading back kids but decide to wait until I talk to Selkie in case she’s not on board with it.
“What’re we gonna do now?” Henri says as she follows me inside.
“I’m gonna finish cleaning up the kitchen, then I gotta do some tune-ups on the bike.”
“Then take me for a ride on it,” Henri says as if it’s a forgone conclusion. She steps into the living room and spies the picture of Chloe sitting on the mantel place. She picks it up and studies it.
“She’s pretty,” she says. “Is she Oscar’s mom?”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“What happened to her?”
I try to keep my voice from cracking. “She died when Oscar was a baby.”
Her face gets solemn as she stares at Chloe for a few long seconds. “That’s very sad,” she says as she replaces the picture.
Then, like the conversation never happened, she grabs the remote off the coffee table, flings herself on the couch and turns on the TV. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Selkie
I’m shoved into the back seat of a big ass Lexus with the guy I took a chunk out of crowding me. He grabs the sleeve of one of my best T-shirts and rips it off, then wraps it clumsily around his hand.
