Page 139 of Down Knot Out
Chloe’s face falls. “Oh, well, we have chocolate muffins, too…”
Sadie takes a hunk from the basket and takes a bite. “I can learn to like bananas.”
Quinn’s shoulders inch downward, and she goes back to playing with Sprinkles.
Holden and Chloe take refreshments to Mrs. Reynolds, too, and Nathaniel. Dominic abandons his woodpile to grab the railing and pull himself up, standing on the outside, and Chloe brings him a glass, then giggles when he steals a kiss to go with it.
On the lawn, Quinn throws the snorting toy again. Sprinkles bounds after it, tail a black flag, and returns it to her feet every time.
Sadie watches it all. “You’re doing a good job. With her. With this place.”
I wait for the rest, for the barb or the deflection, but it doesn’t come.
Sadie sips her lemonade, wincing at the tartness. “I’m glad you took the dog.”
I snort. “You didn’t leave me much choice.”
She tracks Quinn’s movements as she hurls the toy into a patch of clover. “You always did better with living things than I did.”
She sets her cup down and traces the rim with one fingertip. Then, without warning, she turns tome, the movement abrupt. “Are you planning to keep her? Long-term?”
My chest tightens. “That’s up to the court. And you. If you stay clean, they’ll start with visits.”
Her expression hardens. “That’s not what I asked.”
I meet her eyes. “Yeah. I’m planning to keep her. Unless she wants something else.”
Sadie’s jaw works. “She’s better off with you. Always has been.”
“Why are you here, then?”
She flinches as if I slapped her. “I had to see that she was happy for myself. And I wanted her to know I didn’t just dump her like I did her dog.”
The words hit with the force of a punch, and my hand shakes on the cup, lemonade sloshing.
Sadie watches her daughter in the yard, the lines around her mouth deepening. “You remember the summer I stopped dancing?”
Confused by the change in subject, I nod. “You said you broke your foot at camp.”
Her lips twitch. “I lied.”
Confusion fills me, and I frown. “Why would you lie about that?”
Sadie shifts in her chair, chin tilted up as if daring me to call her a liar. “Dad said I broke my foot at camp, but I was at a party. There was acasting director from L.A. there. Dad told me to wear the dress with the green sash.”
She blows out a long, ragged breath. “Someone gave me a drink.”
I press my lips together, afraid of what comes next.
Sadie stares at the table, her nails picking at the edge. “It was someone Dad worked with. A friend. It was only one drink, but when I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t move my ankle. Or the rest of me, really.”
My jaw aches from how tight I clench it, afraid to look at her in case the fury that must be on my face will stop her from speaking.
She laughs, the sound brittle. “You know what Dad said when I called him to come get me? He told me to stop being dramatic. Said nobody liked a liar.”
She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “He said I must have drunk too much and misinterpreted what happened.”
I want to vomit. I want to find our father and punch his teeth down his throat, but that would be too kind.
