I finish my water and turn away from the sink. Tiller is standing in the doorway, facing down the hall, talking to Schmidt. His lips move, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. The ringing is too loud.
I’m not real.
I’m an interlude. A pretense. A transaction.
I’m a balloon with a cut string. I’m going to drift away until I’m so small, no one can see me anymore.
I open my hand. The glass drops to the hardwood floor, shattering. Tiller’s head whips around.
I step forward. Press my foot down. Shift my weight onto that leg. There’s a crunch. Shards sink into my sole. The sharp pain steals my breath.
“Don’t!” he shouts. I read his lips.
I take another step.
“Mrs. Maddox, stop!” He’s quick, dashing over like Superman, grabbing me, hoisting me up and setting me down on the marble island. His mouth runs a mile a minute.
Schmidt races around the doorway. His jacket is missing, and his tie is thrown over his shoulder. He must’ve been holding Winnie. He does that to try and protect his tie from baby barf.
Fat drops of red blood drip from my feet onto the floor. It hurts, worse than splinters, but not nearly as bad as the worst pain I’ve ever felt, which was probably the third degree tear I got when I gave birth to Pearl. It burned like hell, and it took surgery to repair, but I wasn’t mad about it at all. I’d take any pain for my babies.
I’d walk across fire. Glass is nothing. The pain is grounding.
I’m back now. I’m calm. Time is returning to normal speed. No real damage done.
“Here, Mrs. Maddox, swing around and elevate your feet.” Tiller has found the first aid kit.
Schmidt has found a broom. “Do we need an ambulance?” he asks as he sweeps bloody shards of glass into a dustpan.
Tiller gently lifts my foot and examines my sole. “I don’t think so, but we should call Farhadi.”
Farhadi is the concierge doctor that Adrian has on call. He’s a nice man, and he’s perceptive. He’s always asking about my mood.
“No Dr. Farhadi,” I say. “You can handle this, Tiller.”
Tiller frowns at me. He’s arranged my feet over the small sink on the island and is about to pour a bottle of hydrogen peroxide over them. “Ma’am, I would really feel better if—”
“You can take care of it just fine. There’s no reason to get Dr. Farhadi out of bed.”
Tiller opens his mouth to argue.
“He can come tomorrow to check me out. I just want to get this taken care of and go to sleep.” It would help if I could summon up some tears or a chin wobble, but I can’t. I’m still in that strange place where I feel like a kite with its string cut, flying away from my own life, floating high on a jet stream.
I used to float for hours.Dayseven. I did things that I couldn’t take back. That’s the past, though. I have a clean slate. This was a small setback, and totally understandable, considering the trigger.
I am in control of myself. My babies are safe in bed. My husband doesn’t love me. He never did. I was mistaken.
It might feel like the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, if I let myself feel, but it’s not, not even close.
I let Tiller carry me to the bedroom after he bandages my feet. Schmidt has wrangled up a Pack-N-Play, and Winnie is zonked out in her sleep sack. Pearl is curled up like a shrimp under the comforter. Her body hardly makes a bump, but her curly blonde hair spills everywhere. It’s cornsilk, too, like mine.
I never knew my father, and I guess he might have been blond, too, but I’m the spitting image of my mother, just like Pearl is the spitting image of me. We’re a daisy chain of beautiful dolls. I hope it does Pearl more good than it’s done Mom and me.
“Do you need anything else, ma’am?” Tiller asks as he lingers by the light switch. His brown eyes are warm with concern. He likes me, much more than he should, but not more than he likes his plum job—or enough to run afoul of Adrian and his brothers.
Adrian is actually the civilized brother. Gideon and Lucian both have connections that no one ever mentions, but everybody knows about, and rumors swirl about Logan’s security company and the things they can do that no one else can.
Tiller isn’t stupid. He’s not going to make a real move on something that belongs to a Maddox. He’s nice and weak. He’ll watch my husband break my heart, pluck glass out of my bleeding feet, and then ask me politely if I need anything else. He’s a good man. Or as good as any man.
