Page 20 of Avalanche
Lily lets out a snorting sort of laugh, making the last remnants of false smile fall from the curator’s lips.
“Our parents?” Lily repeats, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I’m sorry, but that’s… my parents? No.” Lily takes my hand in hers, her eyes bright with hot indignation. “No, I don’t think we want any postcards from your shop, thank you.”
Lily throws a haughty glance around, chin raised imperiously, her lips curved in an exaggerated, disdainful frown. The expression is such a mockery of the one I’ve seen on my mother’s face, I’m not sure whether to laugh or be terrified.
“We were looking for something original,” Lily drawls. “Something that will hold its value. An investment. This,” she waves her free hand airily in the direction of the replica, “this is not at all what we are looking for.”
“Well…” the curator stammers, sliding her glasses up her nose, turning to look at me. I stare back at her, adopting the uninterested expression of indifference that I learned at my mother’s side.
“Thank you for your time,” I say, smiling inwardly when she starts at the sound of my accent. I let it flow deeper than I normally would, let the French lilt come through more, set aside the tempered accent drilled into me at international school. “Your little gallery has been most…” I pause, tilting my head as if searching for the word, “enlightening.”
Lily and I are laughing when we stumble out of the art gallery, the icy air buffeting our faces, making our cheeks burn.
“What was that all about?” Liam queries, looking at the pair of us as if we’ve lost our minds.
When the only response he gets is more laughter, he rolls his eyes and turns to Matty. “Coffee?” he asks. “I’ve had enough of window shopping.”
Matty’s shoulders slump with relief. “Same,” he admits, casting Lily a guilty look. “I mean, this was really nice,” he tells her hurriedly. “But I could definitely use some food.”
He rubs his stomach for emphasis and I find my eyes dropping to his hand, to where those thick fingers are splayed across a tight-fitting Henley. He must not feel the cold like the rest of us do, to have foregone a coat.
Liam clears his throat and I find myself squirming internally under the sharpness of those grey eyes that see everything.
“There’s a decent cafe at the end of the street,” I suggest, tilting my chin to where a red and white striped awning stretches out over an ice-covered sidewalk.
It’s the sort of place that probably puts tables and chairs out in the summertime, with blankets on hand to keep off the chill. Right now, it’s relying on the golden glow of its windows to attract patrons, promising warmth and escape from the cold.
Matty blinks at the menu tacked up outside the front doors, and I realize with a twinge of guilt that this is probably one of the more expensive cafes in town. I’d discovered it when I first arrived, when my bank account was still full enough to give me a false sense of security. When I’d been certain that my financial situation was a temporary annoyance, that my parents would come to their senses.
Now, coming here seems like a wasteful extravagance.
“Oh, this looks nice!” Lily breaths, beaming at the sight of freshly baked pastries displayed in one of the windows. Matty rushes forward to open the door for her, a besotted smile dimpling his cheeks, the prices apparently forgotten.
“Thanks,” I rasp, feeling suddenly sheepish when he keeps the door open for me. No, not for me, I tell myself. He’s just being polite. He’s holding it for Liam too.
“You’re welcome.” His reply comes almost breathy. The look he gives me—the flash of a smile that’s quickly hidden, the rush of color staining his pale cheeks—that’s more than just politeness.
I feel my heart stammering behind my ribs, a breathless sort of lurch flipping in my stomach. The breathlessness tightens when Liam takes my hand, wrapping his fingers around my own with an unmistakable possessiveness that has me ducking my chin, dropping my gaze to shoot him a questioning look.
Liam hardly ever holds my hand in public.
He stares placidly ahead, taking in the cafe with an unaffected coolness as he saunters after Lily, keeping me close beside him. Matty traipses behind, cheerfully sliding into the high-backed booth that Lily finds for us, happy to find himself seated beside Lily.
A waitress arrives at our table moments after we take our seat, as if she’s followed us here from the door. Then, without waiting for us to answer her mumbled greeting, she places some menus on the table and rattles off the special of the day, a bored smile plastered on her face as she promises to come back when we’re ready. Lily stares intently at her as she speaks, her gaze lingering on her as she moves from table to table, checking on patrons before slipping back off to the kitchen.
“Do you know her?” Matty asks, his voice dropping to a low whisper.
Lily gives an embarrassed wince and shakes her head. “Not exactly,” she whispers. She stares at the menu in front of her intently, but I doubt she’s reading anything on it. “It’s just… I think that was one of the women Tom brought home one time. You know,” she clears her throat, “when he was living with us.”
Liam goes so tense beside me; I can practically feel his muscles vibrating through our shared booth. Matty stills across from me, his blue eyes going distant.
I wonder if he’s remembering that night too. He saw her, I realize. He was the one who carried Tom out of the house that night, bloodied and beaten after Seth had laid into him. He must have seen her on that bathroom floor, must have seen what Tom was about to do to her.
Anger rises in me, a hot and trembling thing that has my molars grinding.
I’d been angry then too, of course. But I’d been confused, half drunk and standing in the cold and looking between Lily clutched in Seth’s arms and Eddie demanding that I help him and Matty put Tom’s unconscious body in the trunk of Lily’s car. Since then, I’d been content not to think about Tom at all, happy to erase him from our lives and my own memory.
“Do you think…” Liam releases my hand, leaning across the table with a forced calmness. “Do you think that she…”
