Page 42 of Hell In A Handbasket
“Sounds like you’re gonna have an awesome day.” He massages the back of my neck. “Maybe you could make a fruit salad when you get home later.”
“Yep! That’s what I said. Fifi doesn’t like meat. I told you that already, huh? She doesn’t like eating animals.”
He nods, animated and serious. “I knew that. Luckily, fruit salad doesn’t need meat.”
“Exactly!”
“Can I talk to my daughter now?” Fletch leans over the back of my chair and snatches the phone. Then, he moves back to where he began, elbowing Jess aside and groaning when Jen approaches, too. “Go away! Leave me alone.”
“Do you forgive me yet, Mayet?” Sophia turns her back to the basketball game and cocks her hip, squinting one eye closed because of the crappy position of the sun. “Please.”
“Did you wake up a better person? Someone who doesn’t use people, lie, manipulate, or generally just annoy by existing?”
She flattens her lips, staring and silent.
“No? Cool.” I push to my feet and toss the candy, pleased when it lands at her feet and dust wafts up to tickle her toes. “Maybe in our next lifetime, then. I’m going for a shower.”
“We’re going for a swim.” Corey sprints past us and scoops Jen into his arms, flipping her onto his shoulder until her scream reverberates a mile in every direction. “There’s a reason we parked here. No need to waste what nature gave us. Let’s go.”
FIFI
This is easy.
It’s fine.
Everything is totally okay.
Until it’s not.
“Get your shoes on, Mia.” I dig through my overnight bag and search for something casual to wear. We’re heading to the office before the markets, but it’s Saturday, which means I don’t have to wear heels. Nor a suit.
I don’t even have to brush my hair if I don’t want to.
I mean… I will. But I don’thaveto.
I select a dress from my pile, a flowy, flowery piece with daisies that almost match Mia’s shorts and a halter neck that ends with a bow that dangles against my bare back. Walking toward the bedroom door, I pass Charlie’s dressing table, crowded with bits and bobs, folded and discarded squares of paper. Pens. Gum pieces. Gum wrappers. It’s a collection point for all the things Charlie Fletcher transports in his pockets on any given day, implying this is probably where he comes first every time he arrives home.
I see it in my mind, the way he strides through the apartment, ignoring the kitchen and living room. Possibly even ignoring his daughter, in favor of tossing his badge, setting his weapons away safely, and emptying his pockets.
Because he won’t be able to relax until he’s done that.
He couldn’t comfortably hug his baby until the holster was off his shoulders and the weapons had been locked away.
Eyeing the top two drawers, the handles that are worn so much more than those below, I figure they’re not regular drawers at all. But his gun-keep. This is his arsenal and his safety.
And I don’t dare touch any of it.
Instead, I grab the door handle. “Mia? I’m getting dressed now, then we can head out and?—”
“I’m ready!”
“Argh!” I startle back and slam my elbow to the top of the drawers, and though a swear word tickles the end of my tongue, a word that starts with an S and ends with a violent H-I-T, I lock the sound behind my lips and hiss.
“I’m sorry, Miss Fifi!” Too sweet, too empathetic, Mia rushes in and rubs my elbow, ignoring the things that fall to the floor. Paper. Gum. A notebook.Not a gun, thankfully. She pulls her hand back, presses a noisy, juicy kiss to her palm, then she lays it over my elbow again and gently rubs. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” I ball my dress and tuck it under my arm, then, lowering into a crouch, I pick up some of the things that fell. “I’m not used to having a kid around first thing in the morning, so I wasn’t prepared for you to pop up so quickly.”
“Cato says I’m so fast, I could be the next Caitlin Clark.” She dashes around me and picks up the notebook and the things that fell out of it. “I can even shoot a basket now.” She lowers her voice. “When he picks me up.”
