Harkham's Corner (Harkham's Series Book 3) (29 page)

It was a never-ending quest for her—learning more.

“Daddy, sit with me. You make the seat warm, and it’s too shiny without you. It hurts my eyes.” She patted the black lacquered bench.

“Show me you remember the warm-up scale I taught you on Tuesday.” He stood across the room, his shoulder up against the wall, observing her.

“Of course I can do it, and I remember it because it sounds like you when we sit at breakfast with our feet up on the table so our toes get more light. You like to hum and sound like you’re singing to your feet so the sun will greet them.” She smiled at him with a nod like this was all some childish, idiotic test he was giving her.

“Okay—show me then.” She would forget. She wouldn’t have cared to remember. His daughter had better things to do like coloring or playing hide and seek, rather than sit at the piano and practice scales.

He nodded back.

She’d get frustrated at how imperfect she’d play it, and she’d walk away, giving him time to decide if this really was a wise path to let her go down.

“Look at me, Daddy!” She swung her legs, and the bench moved with her weight. Her fingers graced the keys effortlessly with speed and precision, and she played the scale perfectly.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Now what?”

“I’m better than our morning feet warming on the table.”

“Mommy knows we do that, doesn’t she?” He eyed her, pretending like she was the culprit that told on them, though, in actuality, he was only trying to distract her.

He approached her, hauled her off the seat and moved them away from the piano, since it was a little too disconcerting at how well she played that just now.

“I don’t tell her anything about feet. She thinks they’re gross. Except Button’s and mine, of course. I have princess feet, and his smell like baby pudgies, or that’s what Mopmop says. She tolded me that baby pudgies are fat rolls that smell like yummy baby smell, unless they never get washed, then it’s just stinko.” She plugged her nose with her left hand and then stuck out her tongue, making a grossed out face.

“Mopmop is so smart, it’s almost scary.” He picked her up and carried her to the kitchen. “Time for lunch.” He chuckled. Lunch was Mopmop’s favorite thing to do when Meg and Adam visited her. Amelia never tired of feeding them.

“It’s too early for lunch. I barely had cereal.” She tried to arch away from him so he’d put her down.

“It’s always time for lunch for me.” He set her down on the counter so she wouldn’t get away.

She smiled at him, swinging her legs, the backs of her heels hitting the cabinets behind them.

“Why is mommy sad?”

“She’s sad because she thought she was going to have another baby, but that didn’t happen. But she’s glad she has you and Button.” He patted her knee and went about securing himself a sandwich.

She grimaced. “No—that’s not why.” She shook her head.

He pulled the bread out and set out a plate for himself.

“Well, all right—smartie master party—you tell me . . . Why do
you
think Mommy’s sad?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then she pointed out the kitchen window toward the front sidewalk. “She looks ready to cry or scream or something. I don’t know how to make a mommy stop being sad.”

He glanced out the window and froze. Holy fucking demon of hell!

It was Ryan Fahey! And she was talking to his
wife
!

His mind went into overdrive. “Oh, she’s okay. I want you to go practice that same piano scale again, okay? Play it real loud so I can hear it from here.” He set her down on the ground.

“But Mommy says not to do that—Button cries if I play loud and jangly.”

He cupped her cheeks, bending over. “Mommy’s outside, so she won’t know, right?”

“Oh yeah!” Her eyes brightened. “I like that she won’t know.”

“I will never tell her.” He let go of her cute face. “Now go. I wanna hear it played ten times in a row.”

She hopped away like a bunny, her little hands like paws under her chin, and Adam raced out the front door after the two women to stop whatever was going on.

Button might wake from his morning nap, but it was okay. Mari would be in the house shortly, and this woman would be gone. Far, far away from them.

His jaw was set like stone, his legs the opposite. They were like Jell-O on springs—just kind of all over the place.

“Mari, get inside the house,” he told her the second he was close enough for her to hear.

“Adam, this is—”

“I know who this woman is.” He moved between the two of them, forming a barrier of sorts. “And she has no right to be here.”

“I’m out on the sidewalk. I didn’t trespass,” Mrs. Fahey began to explain, but Adam held up a hand in front of her face.

“How many fingers do you count here?” His jaw tightened.

“Five.” The woman blinked, and her nose scrunched at the bridge. She shook her head. “But what does that have to do—”

“Oh, good—so your eyes
do
work.” He pointed at his wife behind him. “This is my wife—whom I love dearly. You’re not to talk to her.” He pointed at his house next. “This is where I live. It’s peaceful here. I like it. You coming here disrupts my home. I didn’t invite you. You’re a client at the office, nothing more. We are not friends, and you are
not
family.”

“Actually, I sorta am.” The woman stood taller.

“No.” He huffed and squared his shoulders.

Mari touched his shoulder. “Honey. It’s all right.”

“It’s never all right to come here without the man of the house saying it’s okay.” He scowled at Mrs. Fahey.

She wore a confused expression.

“I’ve got this under control, sweetie. It’s not a big deal. And it’s not what you think,” Mari said, her voice soothing along with her touch.

He wanted to melt into her, sink away into that good place she always took him, but there was an intruder. This wasn’t allowed.

“Daddy?” Megs faint voice came from the front door.

“Meg needs you. Why don’t you find out what she wants. I’ll take care of this.” Mari squeezed the back of his arm.

He turned to his wife, ready to explain to her why this was so wrong, and how
she
should go inside—
not
him.

But she smiled, and he kind of forgot to be mad and big and bold.

“Choppy’s coming with me,” Meg said, bouncing out the door.

Choppy chased right after her.

Adam’s blood boiled right into his nostrils, because it felt hot when he huffed on a nasty exhale and made him snort like a rhino.

He wished he had a scary horn so this woman would leave them alone.

“Wow . . . Is this your daughter?” Mrs. Fahey whispered behind him.

“That’s it!” Adam turned back around, ready to shove her out into the street. “You are not allowed here. I got in trouble once for giving a girl a ride in a cart. Just once, and I wasn’t even mean. But I learned—I wasn’t invited to do that, and parents don’t like it when other adults come around their kids when they don’t know them. I can’t trust you, just like that little girl’s mom couldn’t trust me. I protect my kids, because I love them. That’s what good dads do. And I don’t care if you’re a woman. You’re still a potential hazard to my family—to
me
, even. So, just go!” He pointed to what was presumably her car.

“I know you’re a good dad and a fabulous husband. That’s why I came here for help!” Mrs. Fahey’s eyes filled with water.

“No! I. Don’t. Know. You! I have to know someone to help them.” He shook his head, when the words sunk in. “Outside of the office I mean. I help strangers there because I’m paid to do that, and there are procedures and regulations to keep everyone safe. This is messy and ugly, because you didn’t come here with rules!” Fuck! His head exploded with numbers, ricocheting off memories of her touching him.

“Adam—sweetheart, I’m right here. Sing. Take a deep breath and sing. You’re shouting numbers, and it’s scaring our daughter,” Mari’s soft voice said at his ear.

Her hands ran through the hair at his temples, but he couldn’t see her. His vision was blurred, and he was looking up at the sky.

The clouds were a strange orangish glowy-color, shaped like the numbers three, eight and one—and they kind of reminded him of orange sherbet that one time Mari mixed with Seven Up—which has a number on the can, not in these clouds. She made him such a nice floaty drink that day. Why couldn’t today be like
that
day? Damn, that was good. Fruity, soft, pillow, fizzy drink.

“Okay, yes, I can make that drink for you later. But right now, please sing me our new song. The one you made for me?” Her fingers drifted down to his jaw.

She whispered something to someone else, and it wasn’t until he heard Meg scream out that his sight went blindingly white and then transformed to seeing vibrant colors.

Hideous ones when he focused and dropped his head.

“Donny! No!” Mari used her old nickname for her friend London at her side, who was picking up Meg.

His daughter screeched, “My Daddy holds me! Not you!”

Adam roared, snatched her out of the woman’s hands and thrust Meg at Mari. “Inside. Now!” His teeth rattled, they were clenched that tight when he told his wife what to do.

His fingers flexed.

“Get inside, Meg. Take Choppy with you,” Mari told their daughter.

“Mari—so help me.” Adam turned to her as if on a rickety old hinge, his eyes shrinking on him until his lids were slits.

“No. You need me. You just had an episode.” She grabbed his hand.

Meg was cowering behind Mari, peeking at him, looking frightened.

Goddammit! This was all so fucked up! His daughter wore an expression of revulsion, and it was being blasted straight at him.

“Look what you did!” He threw his hands up in the air as he yelled at London and Mrs. Fahey. “I have worked hard to pay for a house I love. My kids are safe here, and my wife is happy. Now you’ve come here and messed it up!”

“I’m sorry, I just—” Mrs. Fahey’s chin trembled, and her eyes were all watering cans again, leaking a little.

“She was only trying to tell you what’s going on,” Tori said, hands on her hips with a defiant edge to her voice.

“I don’t need to be told anything.” He took a deep breath. “I’m happy not being a part of your sick world.”

Without another word, he took his wife and Meg’s hand and expected Choppy to follow them inside.

What he did not expect was that those two women would have the audacity to chase after them to their front door as well.

Well, fuck. This was going to be unpleasant . . .

Chapter 15

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Mrs. Fahey said right behind him as he opened his front door to step inside and get away from her.

“No.” He turned around and pointed at her. “You don’t get to thank me for anything. Not at my house, and not at the office. I can no longer help you.” His eyes narrowed, and so did his mouth, barely letting any breath escape.

“But you already did.” Her eyes shimmered with wetness and gratitude.

He didn’t like either of those in her eyes.

“It’s time for you to go now,” he said, stepping closer to his door.

“Okay. I’m sorry if I’ve stressed you out. I didn’t mean to.” Mrs. Fahey walked over to London, and they left together.

Without a word to his wife, Adam steered her inside.

He locked the door behind him and went straight to the fridge for a beer. He hated that stuff, and he really only kept it around for guests like Zach, but this seemed like the right time to have one.

“Not a soda?” she asked.

“No. I want something different, since that was so odd, and I don’t want it to taint my happy memories of my fizzy, tingling pop.” He opened it and chugged it down.

She watched him in silence with a measured look on her face.

Something was going on here.

“What did they say to you?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He rinsed out his beer can and opened the cabinet under the sink, placing the can inside the recycling bin.

“Oh, you want to know now?” She blinked and leaned her hip into the table.

“Yes, of course, I do. I want to know everything—only not from them. I know they’re liars. She already told me that baby in her belly was mine, and there’s no way it could possibly be.”

The numbers circled in his mind, making his vision blur for a second. He gripped the counter for support, in case they became stronger.

Music wafted in from the other room, and it was the piano.

Meg must’ve been playing.

Without any warning, his mind went blank, and he saw nothing but a white, clouded sky. It looked like hazy steam.

Water stuck to his skin like a thin, filmy sheet.

He tried to swipe at it, but he couldn’t.