Page 141 of Finding Our Reality

Kristie pulls her keys from her purse. “Here, take my keys. I drove Dad here. You can drop him off before you come home. Tomorrow morning I’ll drive my car home from your house. Problem solved.”

Her words are slurred, and I’m surprised she had enough brain power to come up with a plan.

Lulu plucks the keys from her hand. Smiling, she tries to ease the tension coursing through my body. “See, it’ll be fine. I’ll take Phillip home as soon as the gala ends. I promise, I won’t be long.”

“If you don’t walk through the door the second this party is done, I’m gonna flip my shit.”

My Lulu brushes her lips against mine, breathing her life into me. “We definitely don’t want that.Husband.”

So much for our date with the firepit and tent.

Chapter 46

ELLA

I breathe a sigh of relief when I pull into Phillip’s driveway. The announcement of Dr. Bussman’s buyout of Dad’s practice and share of the building went better than expected, with Phillip graciously toasting her at the end of my speech. Despite his public acceptance of her, I know he’s still pissed, so I wasn’t looking forward to being alone with him in the car.

He didn’t even seem really concerned when I told him that Kristie fell ill and was resting at my house.

“Kristie will be back home tomorrow morning. Will you be here?” I want to make sure she discusses her addiction with him as soon as possible. Once I know he’s getting her the help she needs, I’m washing my hands of the whole situation. I can’t have her in my life.

Addiction took my sister from me. Addiction ripped Ry’s family from him. I refuse to let it ruin my life anymore. I refuse to let it ruin my husband. Our children. Our world.

“Yes, I should be home? Why?”

I nod once, not giving an answer.

“Why don’t you come inside?”

“It’s late, I should get going. Check on Kristie.”

His hand pauses on the door handle. “I have something of your father’s I want to give you.” He nods at the ignition, urging me to turn the car off. “It won’t take long.”

I’m not sure why I say yes, but I do. I guess I don’t want to be rude. I guess I want to soften the blow for the news I know he’llget tomorrow about his daughter. I guess I want to thank him for not being a butthole at the gala.

Oh well, I always do what I shouldn’t. Tonight should be no different.

I’ve been in this house more times than I can count. It’s just as large as my parents’ house. Just as grand, just as glamorous. Phillip definitely had a different decorator, though. Mom wanted our house to be on the cover of every home décor magazine south of the Mason Dixon line. Phillip’s house, however, is the stereotypical bachelor pad of a man with too much money and too little self-esteem. The furniture is modern and uncomfortable, the floor is decorated in bear skin rugs, and the kitchen looks completely un-cooked in. In all honesty, it’s always given me the willies to be here. Even Kristie’s room always looked more like a hotel bedroom than the bedroom of a little girl. Maybe that’s part of the reason she always came to our house instead of us coming to hers.

Phillip stops at the wet bar in the living room and pours himself a drink. He makes an elaborate show of swirling the brown liquid around in the crystal tumbler. “Can I get you a drink?”

He knows I don’t drink. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

He reaches out and touches my left hand. My jaw tenses and my spine locks in place. I shift away from his touch, clasping my hands in front of me.

He takes a sip of his drink. “Sorry, I always forget that you don’t like to be touched.” He puts his glass down. It clinks loudly against the marble of the bar. “That always bothered your father, you know? Not being able to hug you and kiss you, like a normal child?”

That’s the thing, though. If my mother and father hugged and kissed me like a ‘normal child’, then I wouldn’t mind being touched.

My hugs came from my sister. From my aunt and uncle. Hell, even from my nanny.

He shrugs when I don’t answer, nodding at my hand. “I noticed the ring on your finger. It looks like a wedding ring.”

I swallow, trying to politely smile. Some habits die hard. “It is.”

“You’re married?”

“Yes.” Semantics, I think to myself.

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