Page 204 of Property of Whiskey

Twila bites her lip.

Wren looks genuinely worried. “Daddy? She can use the couch.”

Twila nods. “See? We already discussed this.”

“No.”

Both of them look at me.

Twila turns slowly toward me. “No what?”

“No couch.”

Wren’s eyes get big.

I hear the mistake after it leaves my mouth.

Twila definitely does.

Her smile goes slow. “Where should I sleep, Whiskey?”

Fucking hell.

“In a bed.”

“Which bed?”

“Woman.”

Wren giggles under the blanket.

I stand. “Bedtime is over.”

“That ain’t how bedtime works,” Twila says.

“Is now.”

Wren catches my hand before I can move away.

“Daddy.”

“What?”

“Check under the bed.”

I stop.

That one ain’t funny.

Still, I crouch and look beneath the bed. Shoes, one abandoned doll, a single sock that’s probably been missing since Easter.

Nothing with spines.

“Clear.”

“Closet?”

I check that too, pushing aside dresses and a pink raincoat before shutting the door.