Fuck. He’s coming here.
I should leave. I can get to my bike before he arrives. But my legs won’t move.
“Don’t do anything until I arrive,” he says, like he’s talking to a skittish wild animal. “Please. I’m asking this one thing of you. Please wait until I get there.”
I haven’t said a word. I clear my throat, but still can’t think of a single goddamn thing to say.
His sister is watching me. I don’t even know her name.
His niece has fallen quiet, small arms clinging to her mother’s neck, fear in her wide, innocent eyes. Reacting instinctively to her mother’s scream.
I amsoin the wrong.
A tear slides down my cheek, and I don’t know why. Guilt? Shame? The child’s silent terror thatI’vecaused? I wipe it away.
“Raven.” Declan’s voice comes again. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. I need to talk to you.” His voice rises. “Sara? I need you to go into your play room and get all your dolls lined up in order, okay? Will you show me after I’ve spoken to my friend?”
“Yes, Uncle Declan,” she says, her innocent voice high, her fear fading just like that. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. But I will soon. Off you go, now.”
“Go on, baby,” her mother says, setting her daughter down and giving her a firm push.
We watch the child walk away.
“I was never going to hurt her,” I say, the words sticking in my throat. As if I ever could.
I was talking to the mother, but Declan replies.
“I know that,” he says immediately. “Never doubted it. Camilla? Raven’s a friend of mine. You can trust her. Get her a coffee, please? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Trust?The irony of that is scalding in my throat.
Declan’s sister looks like she doesn’t believe him for a moment. “Sure,” she says warily. “A coffee. Right.”
“Raven?”
“Still here.” Still feeling unbelievably shit.
“Good. I’ll explain everything.”
That, I very much doubt. “Whatever.”
I kill the call and place the phone back on the counter. Now it’s my hands that are trembling.
I can’t look at his sister; I’m too ashamed.
How has it come to this?
He was never married. He doesn’t have a child. This woman in Thousand Oaks, the one in his apartment. Both my errors. Catastrophically so.
I’m such a goddamn fool.
I stagger back to my stool at the kitchen island, my head sinking into my hands. Camilla takes three steps and hits the button on the kettle.
He was tellingthe truth. All along.
About this, and about what else?
