Page 57 of Sweet Poison

“That’s the weird part. Apparently, Anya claimed they were fakes that her father had bought for her at a flea market, but Tiffany being the fashion victim she is, knew how to check if those types of shoes are fake. She checked them and they were the real thing. That pair costs, get this, $1200.00!”

“Whoa!” Kelly mouthed. “$1200 for a pair of kid’s shoes.”

“It doesn’t make sense. He’s an accountant, right?”

“That’s right,” I confirmed. Natalie’s story was wild, but it kinda confirmed my belief that something was not right. The beat-up car was wrong and now the shoes were wrong.

“This is just silly. You guys are just looking for trouble. I’m sure there’s an absolutely reasonable explanation,” Pearl said.

"Listen, the kids will be coming soon. I should get ready," I said.

"So you're not going to answer before we leave?" Kelly asked.

“Answer what?”

“How big is Mr. Swift’s cock?” Pearl reminded.

Sighing, I stopped then and looked at a lump of clay in the plastic bucket. I pulled more than two handfuls out and began to roll it. They all watched me. I looked at my creation, then added another handful. Natalie sniggered.

After I had rolled to the right length and consistency, I looked up at them.

Kelly had her mouth hanging open. "You're exaggerating, right?"

“Nope.” I flattened the roll, returned it to the bucket, turned away, and couldn’t help but smile.

Their little faces!

Chapter 35

Cole

This event was more or less what I had expected. It was early afternoon and we were under the canopy of a large tree. Everyone was drinking cocktails and holding onto portable fans.

The mood seemed jovial, but it was tiring to be watched by so many pairs of eyes. I made my way further into the grounds. There was only one pair of eyes I wanted on me. I looked around and did not see Montana. It had been a couple of days since our rendezvous in the car, and not a full hour had gone by that I hadn’t thought about her.

I wondered if I took up space in her mind even a fraction of the amount of space she was hogging in mine.

"Dad! Dad!" I heard the sudden piercing call. For a second, my heart lurched and I felt a strange sense of loss. She was calling me Dad. She was only seven and had already outgrown the word Daddy in public.

I turned in the direction of her voice. My little poppet was wearing a tiny apron and running towards me. Her hands were covered with … that better be mud.

"Hands to yourself," I said as she reached me.

She giggled and I was incredibly happy to see her look so happy and carefree. She had made a couple of new friends and I was pleased with her progress in school, but for the past two nights, her nightmares had recurred to the point where I had begun to suspect she was feigning them just so she could stay in bed with me because she was unsettled by the sudden move out of everything that was familiar to her.

But now she seemed free and happy.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Pottery," she replied. "I'm trying to make you a mug. Since we couldn’t bring your favorite white and green one since we moved from New York."

"Hmmm," I said. "Remember what I told you about mentioning where we moved from?"

She slapped her hands around her mouth. “Oops,” she said and smiled so foolishly and sheepishly I had to laugh at her clay-covered face.

“Hang on,” I said, and taking my phone out snapped a photo of her.

“Let me see,” she asked.

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