She stood, quicker than she’d intended, signaling the end of the conversation. She ignored the pain in her back—getting Josh off the subject of the Trenton girl was more important. She -needed to finish the cookies and start dinner before Tom came home, -exhausted from his long day at the university, ready to eat and watch some television and maybe wrestle with the bills in his office or tinker in his basement before going to sleep.
There was no question of helping. They didn’t have the money to take on another mouth. And damn that kid for making her feel like less of a mother, a person. She should want to reach out to the little orphan girl, reach out and bring her to her bosom. But the idea of managing two kids made her queasy. Add to that she’d spend the rest of her life hearing Marie Trenton’s voice every time Aubrey spoke . . . Well, that just wouldn’t do. The girl would survive. She’d always struck Daisy as a survivor.
Josh stood by the table, still uncertain, like a dog that’s been kicked but wants to come back and try to be petted again. He knew that she’d made up her mind, but he was going to press the issue. She could tell.
But he didn’t, not in the way she expected. Instead he slung a sentence at her that would resonate for years, the first thing he’d ever said to be purposely hurtful. She didn’t know where, or who, he learned it from, but his intent to upset her succeeded.
“I thought mommies were supposed to love everyone.”
Daisy’s hands had warmed the vodka. The glass was half empty, but she couldn’t bear the taste anymore. She tossed the drink in the bed of the cypress tree and lit another cigarette.
Idiot. She’d been such an idiot. She’d pushed him right into Aubrey Trenton’s skinny little arms without even meaning to.
Josh had made his choice that day. He’d chosen an eight-year-old stranger over the woman who gave birth to him, nurtured him, loved him. Given his heart to a parentless waif, an orphan twice over, a child he’d spend the next sixteen years catering to.
An eight-year-old stranger who’d grown into his wife.
A choice that had gotten him killed.
CHAPTER 7
Aubrey
Today
Dusk shrouded the sky in an inky gray-and-pink blanket. Aubrey’s calves screamed. She was gulping air and pumping her arms to try to keep up with the punishing pace her demons set forth. She needed to slow down or she’d be too sore to walk.
She shortened her stride to a manageable jog, finished the last hundred yards around Dragon Park, and walked for a bit with her hands on her hips as her breath finally steadied.
She’d done her daily penance. It was over. Time for her to make her way back to the house, shower, maybe heat up a frozen dinner or, better yet, scoop some ice cream into a bowl and crash on the couch with Winston.
She wasn’t that far from home, but the idea of getting there under her own steam was suddenly overwhelming. The darkness didn’t bother her; she’d been known to run when she couldn’t sleep. Midnight, two in the morning, four, they were all her friends. But she was exhausted, and smart enough to recognize it. She’d done more than sixteen miles, at a seven-minute-mile pace, and hadn’t been prepared with water, a snack, protein pack, nothing.
Ignoring the giant mosaic dragon rising out of the playground, the screams of the happy children scaling its spiny back, she walked to the water fountain at the entrance to the park. Sucked down a gallon of warm city water, slowly walked to 21st Avenue, stuck her hand out in the universal gesture of “I need a cab.”
It only took a minute, remarkable, really. Nashville wasn’t terribly large, and cabs weren’t a given occurrence like they were in many cities. This end of town, where Vanderbilt met Dragon Park, wasn’t a big spot for tourists; outside of the Pancake Pantry, all the exciting bits were on the other side of campus, near Centennial Park and the Parthenon. She could always call for an Uber car, but she didn’t trust them; giving over her life to some random stranger seemed foolhardy. But she had a stroke of luck tonight.
A yellow sedan edged to the curb, and Aubrey saw the outline of a man in the backseat. He reached over and handed the driver some money, opening the door almost before the car had come to a stop. He stepped out, head turned from hers, and pulled a briefcase from the backseat. He began to walk away.
Her heart began to beat, loud and crazy and insistent.
She knew that walk.
Josh.
She took off after the man, rushing before he disappeared into the crowd, her heart soaring.
He’d come back. He was here!
“Josh!” she called. The man didn’t turn.
She reached him in just a few seconds, put her arm on his shoulder and whirled him to face her. Older, midthirties, blond hair, lightening a bit at the temples where he’d gray in a few years, brown eyes, straight nose—her mind screaming, No no no no no no.
It wasn’t him.
“Hi there. Can I help you?” the stranger asked, his eyes confused.
Aubrey shook her head. Dejected, she turned and walked away.
How many men had she chased down in the street, thinking they were her husband? How many times had she been fooled? The perfect word, fooled.