Page 168 of Every Silent Lie
Fuck.
My head pounds, feeling like it could fall off my shoulders with the weight of my thoughts. And the fear inside me? It’s so powerful it hurts.
I feel like an impostor.
“What are you doing here?” he finally asks, the words a quiet murmur. It surprises me. Isn’t it obvious why she’s here? I think I expected him to yell his outrage and throw her out. And he hasn’t.
“You look well,” she says, lowering her handbag to the wooden floor. Is she about to take her coat off? Hang it on the stand? Go to the kitchen to put the kettle on? Irritation begins to dilute the fear and shock, and that only worsens when her eyes roam the naked planes of Dec’s chest. Yes, he looks well. Or did. Now? The warm, safe body aside that I love, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, frowning, shaking his head.
“Daddy?”
That one word is all it takes to snap him out of his stunned state, and he swings around, as do I, finding Albi in the kitchen doorway, his face smeared in chocolate milk.
“Oh my goodness,” Chelsea breathes, pulling my attention back around. She’s staring at him, her hand over her heart. I can’t take it. I feel like I’m sitting on the sidelines, helplessly watching all hope slip down the drain. “You’ve changed so much.” She lowers to a knee, and Albi’s little eyes narrow as he moves into Dec’s side and circles both his arms around his daddy’s naked thighs, hugging them.
Dec’s arm goes around his boy protectively. “Changed so much?” he breathes in disbelief, his eyes suddenly darkening. Anger. I’ve seen it on him only a few times, and it’s not pretty. “Of course he’s changed, Chelsea, he was four weeks old when you left over four fucking years ago.”
Something in me clicks, and it overrides my fear and uncertainty, and Dec’s anger and whatever feelings Chelsea’s having.
Albi.
I don’t even know if it’s my place, or if it’s what Dec wants, but I don’t like the building anger in him, and his language tells me he’s not thinking straight. I hurry over to Albi, who’s still clinging to his daddy’s thighs, and crouch. “Why don’t you come show me the Spitfire Mr. Percival was telling you about?”
His scowling face pushes into Dec’s thigh some more. He knows. He knows something’s not right. Little sponges. I smile wide, using every ounce of strength I have to show him I’m not affected. Everything’s okay. I wish Dec could do the same.
“Come on,” I say, offering my hand. “Daddy needs to talk to the lady.”
Dec’s suddenly crouched with me, but he doesn’t look at me, his full attention on Albi. “I’ll be back in a minute, fella.”
“Where are you going, Daddy?”
“Nowhere. I’m staying right here. I’ll be a few minutes, I promise.”
“Come,” I say, taking Albi’s hand gently and standing, leading him away. He looks back over his shoulder constantly. Suspicious. Chelsea catches my eye. Her straight lips tell me everything I need to know. “Show me this Spitfire,” I say, my voice loaded with enthusiasm I’m not feeling as I lead him into the kitchen.
“Who is she?” Chelsea asks as we disappear. “A replacement for me?”
“I can’t replace something he never had,” Dec snipes. “What do you want, Chelsea?”
I grab Dec’s phone but meet a brick wall, the screen locked. “Do you know Daddy’s code?”
“My birthday!”
“Which is when?” I don’t even know that.
“June!”
“Do you know what day?”
“Fifteen!”
I type in 1506 and breathe my relief when the screen comes to life. Loading Google, I type in “Spitfire” trying not to listen but struggling when there’s no attempts to lower their voices. “Oh wow,” I say, lifting Albi onto the island and showing him the screen. “Look at that!” He takes the phone and stares down at the plane. “Mr. Percival flew one of these?” I ask.
“Yep. Over Germany!”
“Wow.”
