Page 26 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

“It’s my house?”

Charles descended a step. “It’s my house, but if you mean in the way anything that belongs to the husband belongs to the wife, it’s still my house. Didn’t you read the prenup? Why the fuck are you here?”

“Our son deserves a nuclear family.”

Charles snorted. “Our son is thriving without your bullshit.”

“Be that as it may,” Cordelia said, as she draped the strap of her purse over the hooks in the hallway. “He is my son.”

Charles went down another couple steps as two more bags made their way past him. He had half a mind to stop it, but he was more curious about Cordelia than angry. For now. “What are you playing at?”

“Simply, that I’ve had time to think about this, and while I have no intention for us to take up as any normal couple would, our son should feel the daily presence of both parents. Not very unlike what Maureen is doing, after that loveless marriage you arranged for her, no?”

“You don’t talk about my family,” Charles said, a new edge coming to his voice. “Nicolas doesn’t need both of us here to thrive. He needs stability.” He dropped down another step. “What he needs is love, and you’re not capable of it.”

If Cordelia was wounded by the assertion, she showed no signs. “He’s too young to know the history between us.”

“By history, you must mean having your insides ripped out so he can’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“Or how you murdered my father. I could’ve meant that, too.”

“Your father was a rapist,” Charles countered. “A child rapist.”

“And Nicolas will have his siblings, when your little French tart proves out her fertility, no doubt.”

“She’s sleeping in the bed with me, so you’ll have to find another suite to call headquarters to your satanic franchise.”

Cordelia took his chin in her bony fingers. “Oh, come on, Charles. We both know Satan would never franchise. Now. Where’s my son?”

“With Lisette. He’s getting ready for his aunt to pick him up for the celebrations in the Quarter.”

“What celebrations?”

“While you were busy boiling virgins and plucking out the eyes of poor bayou toads, our country turned two hundred years old. Don’t suppose you noticed that every goddamn building in this town is decorated in red, white, and blue?”

“The bicentennial,” Cordelia said, nodding. “Celebrating the day the ungrateful rebels decided they’d rather pay taxes to a heathen government than remain connected to the esteemed and noble European establishment that might’ve redeemed their Godless, classless souls.”

“Yeah. Anyway.” Charles gave her the look he gave crazies. “He’s going. Soon.”

“Soon isn’t now,” Cordelia replied and ascended the stairs in the direction of the nursery.

“I need help.”

Evangeline hadn’t ever said the words before, and once they were out, she wondered why. There was power in admitting vulnerability. Even strength. The words freed her, at least of the burden of living with them.

“Evie, I can be on a plane in—”

“No, Leena. It’s not like that, this time. I need advice.”

“Oh,” Colleen replied. She shuffled around on her side, and it sounded like she was settling in. “What kind of advice?”

“Are you following the news in Massachusetts?”

“Things have been rather hectic around here, with Amelia, and trying to get everything with the Collective sorted before we fly back to Scotland for fall term. Noah, her bottle is getting too hot. Can you pull it down?” Colleen sighed. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t call to hear me get distracted on you.”

“It’s fine, but we have a killer targeting college kids in Cambridge, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

The busy sounds from Colleen’s end came to an abrupt halt. For a moment, there was only silence. “What did you just say?”

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