Page 47 of Milk & Cookie

She frowns at her dough, and I lean over, to see a few bunnies have had body parts amputated by her aggressive use of the cookie cutter. “I hope you didn’t mind my giving Fred a reason to feel safe in her own home, by telling her about Adam’s death,” I add.

“No, I don’t mind.” She molds the cookie dough back into a ball and rolls it out again. “I’ve felt guilty for years that she thought that man was still after us, but I couldn’t very well tell her she was safe, outright, when I still had to hide from the law. I thought about telling her once she was fully grown, but I didn’t want to leave her, and I’d almost convinced myself I was safe from discovery, until you showed up.” She glances at me, and I raise my palms again.

“There’s no risk of me reporting you, and nobody else is collecting the meager crumbs of evidence you left behind. If they do, they’ll only end up chasing wild geese, since I tweaked a few details.”

She looks up from her work. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

She looks me over, and then shakes her head.

I sigh. “If you’ve got something to say, you should say it, Gail. You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“You’re a people pleaser,” she says, picking up her bunny cutter again and taking more care where she presses it.

I suck a smear of garlic from my knuckle. “Is that bad?”

“I don’t know,” she mutters. “But I haven’t met anyone who does it for genuine reasons.”

I point at my chest, as if she could possibly be meaning someone else. “You think I have disingenuous motives?”

“I don’t know.”

I reach for another garlic twist. “I just want you to like me, so our family can be a happy one. Would it help if I gave you permission to kill me if I hurt any of them? I could sharpen that rusty axe you talked about and make it a more effective killing tool, if you’re unsure what dosage you’d need to poison me. As a hint, I’m very big, and the amount it’d take to bring me down would be substantial enough to leave a taste in my mouth I would recognize. The axe may be the better option. Either way, it’d also be a lot of work to dig a grave for someone my size, so you’ll have to think ahead. If you want, I can help you plan it all out, so nobody will ever know, and you won’t hurt your back or anything.”

She’s arched an eyebrow at me for at least half a minute, and it’s still raised when she turns back from putting her cookies in the oven.

“Wow. You can really hold that eyebrow,” I say. “That’s some long-term commitment.”

She continues to stare at me, and I laugh. “Come on. Lighten up. All I’m saying is that I will never hurt your family — not even by telling them certain truths that are best to remain buried. I won’t lie to Fred, but I’ll never reveal your secrets.”

“You won’t lie, huh?” She snorts. “What about saying Adam died of natural causes?”

I step closer and look her straight in the eye. “There is nothing more natural than you, defending yourself and your child, Gail. It’s perfectly natural.”

She utters a soft sound of agreement and moves on to her next task. “I can see why she likes you.”

My soul loses about a hundred pounds with that level of acceptance, and I smile as the weight lifts from my shoulders. “Good.”

“The old cottage across the field is empty,” she says, as I reach for the last garlic twist.

I pause, hovering my hand over the basket. “Are you asking me to move into it? I’m allowed to be that close?”

“Well, it’s bound to be farther away than wherever you were last night, and the hedge will help block most of your sex noises.”

My face bursts into flames, and I take the garlic twist, so I have something to look at and fidget with. “Apologies.”

“It’s Fred’s voice that carried. And at least I know you were treating her well.” She clears her throat and moves on to her next task. “I’m only suggesting the cottage because you both seem intent on making this work, and I’d prefer to have you close enough I can keep an eye on you.”

She dumps cups of flour into the big mixer. “I’d also like to curb the small-minded chatter about why my daughter’s climbing through the ass-fucker’s window — though why they’d think the babymaker would go doing that is beyond me. Everyone knows using the backdoor ain’t how babies get made.”

I cover my laugh when she angles that eyebrow at me again.

She narrows her gaze, and winces as she sizes me up. “You don’t fuck asses too, do you?”

An actual giggle escapes me, and I shake my head before clearing my throat and getting very serious, because she looks ready to go find that axe. “No Ma’am. The number and frequency of the babies coming will assure you my interests are in using the front door.”

She closes her eyes and grumbles under her breath. “This is what comes of raising a strong-willed free spirit, I suppose. Just how big do you think these babies are going to be?”

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