I didn't instigate the message, and I keep looking at it to remind myself it's real, and whether it's meant to be or not, it's a shining light, and it means the world to me.
Fuck, I'm getting old.
Falling apart at the sight of a text.
My fingers itch to text back. But I don't. There's no question there, and I have to let her set her own comfort zones within the perimeters I've given. What I do is text Rich, who is in charge today.
Me
Lola texted she's staying late. Let her know I got the text.
And once more I hold back from a bombardment.
He knows what he's doing.
She might ask to see the text, and I don't want her seeing a million texts to him from me.
This is about earning enough to have that clean slate she craves.
Rich
Will do.
Satisfied, I put my phone down and climb the stairs.
In the living room, I look up. Two more flights to Lyndall's room, but neutral space might be better.
"Lyndall. Get your ass down here."
No answer.
I tap my hand against my thigh.
She might be listening to music, but being Lyndall andbeing home alone, I'm betting she's not going to use headphones.
Lyndall understands threats.
She's smart, industrious. She is a Marino, no matter how you look at it.
She won't block sounds to alert her of someone entering the home.
Lyndall fucking knows I'm here.
"Do not make me get up there, or you'll regret it."
Feet thump loudly on the stairs as she makes her way down.
She stops at the landing, right near where the living room space is. "What?"
I take in the crossed arms, the stance.
But I'm not going to back down, defensive as she is. I'm fucking furious still.
Which I'm not going to show her.
I'm mature.
"What the actual fuck, Lyndall? You not only lied, but you covered up something important."
