Page 22 of American Hellhound
Maggie just wanted to go to the movies and sleep late on Saturday mornings.
“Margaret!” Denise called again – shouted this time. Maggie could tell she was standing directly at the bottom of the stairs now.
“Shit,” she muttered, and went to face the dragon.
Denise stood with her foot up on the bottom step, toe of her slingback tapping against the pale blue runner, arms folded in a way that jacked her shoulder pads up high on her narrow shoulders and made her look like a linebacker. Her face was thunderous, and of course, there wasn’t a hair out of place on her head.
“Answer me when I call you,” she said, voice the low, tight snap of contained fury. She wasn’t a screamer by nature; she liked to spar up close, underhanded and dirty.
“I did.” Maggie was careful to keep her own voice neutral as she started down the stairs. “I said I would be a minute.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t say it.”
“You…” Denise trailed off, eyes widening, as she took notice of what Maggie was wearing. “Whose jacket is that? That isn’tyours.”
“No, it’s Rachel’s. I borrowed it.” Maggie reached the second-to-last step and halted, hand on the bannister, waiting to see if her mother would step aside.
“It’shideous. It looks like aman’sjacket. Why would you want to borrow that?”
“Because I like it.”
Denise snorted. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes.” Maggie tried not to take a deep breath. “I’m meeting Rachel in town. We’re going to go shopping.”
“Shopping for what?”
“Does it matter, Mom?” She shouldn’t say that, she really shouldn’t, but… “I have my allowance.”
“You need a dress to wear to next weekend’s tea social.”
“Do I have to spend my allowance on that? Also, twenty bucks isn’t going to buy the kind of dress you want me seen in.”
Denise’s lips pressed together, a thin white line. She reached forward and took a lock of Maggie’s hair between her fingers, her usual honey waves accentuated by hot rollers. “I don’t care for your hair this way.”
Of course you don’t, Maggie thought. What she said was, “I’ll be back for dinner. Promise.”
Denise surveyed her a long moment. The hair slid from her fingers, bouncing lightly against Maggie leather-covered shoulder. Thank God she’d zipped the jacket up and she wasn’t flashing any cleavage.
“I just want the best for you,” Denise said, and made it sound like a threat. “The very best.”
“I know, Mom. Can you let me by, please?”
Denise waited a moment, just because she could, just to prove that she was the mother, and Maggie the daughter. Then she retreated and stepped to the side.
“Bye, Mom.” Maggie didn’t spare a look behind her, just fled.
~*~
Ghost stepped out of the pharmacy with three different kinds of children’s fever reducer. Plus some Pepto-Bismol in case the stomach trouble persisted. At the register, he’d added a package of Skittles, because Aidan loved Skittles, and candy always made everything better. He stood on the sidewalk, plastic bag in one hand, head tipped back so he could feel the sun on his face. It wasn’t warm enough to fight the nip in the air, but he liked the way the light burned against his eyelids. Maybe, if he stood there long enough, his problems would melt away into the soothing whiteness that slowly filled his head.
The wind kicked up by a passing car tugged at his clothes, and with a sigh, he righted himself, blinked his vision back to normal, and started back toward his bike.
He glanced automatically toward the door of Hiram’s Spirits as he passed. His head still hurt, and his stomach still rolled, souvenirs of last night’s drinking. The hangover would fade when he got some food and water into him. Or he could crack open a beer and chase it away quicker than that.
No, he had to get back to Aidan. Stay focused. Plus, it was alarming how much he leaned on alcohol these days.
