Chapter 49: Mitch

Skylar’s face immediately changed posture, from expectant child to sulky teen. Why did she have to be so unguarded, so vulnerable? In moments like these, I remembered the vast differences between her and Jo Beth and I became determined to elicit Skylar’s smile. I just started talking quickly, hoping that if I could prevent holes in the conversation, the hole in her heart would close as well.

“I’m not surprised she was out all afternoon,” I said to Magda, who’d arrived unexpectedly a couple of hours ago. “You wouldn’t believe how busy Skylar is! She’s always either doing her physical therapy or her class work, if she’s not writing her novel or watching Bijou for me, that is. I don’t think she knows the meaning of down time.”

“Congratulations,” Magda said to Skylar, and her ill-fitting comment made me squirm.

Skylar’s voice was flint-like. “On?”

“On your niece and on your beautiful condo.” Magda flashed her game-show-hostess smile. “Now I understand why Mitch is so happy living here. What better place to raise a child?” She switched her heavy-lidded gaze from Skylar to me. “You’re staying here forever, aren't you?”

I wiped my sweaty palms against my blue jean-clad thighs, widening my eyes at Magda. Why would she put me on the spot like that, less than thirty seconds after Skylar had come in? “Could be,” I muttered. “Hey, who’s hungry? Let’s get some takeout!”

“Or we could go out to eat,” Magda said.

“No. Bijou is still napping and she doesn’t do well in restaurants,” Skylar replied.

“Plus, if we stay home, then Skylar can drink with us. I thought I’d make caipirinhas.”

I’d made caipirinhas, one of Brazil’s most famous types of cocktails, once before for Skylar; that was the night that she’d confessed to writing a novel. Do you want to read it, her liquor-loosened voice had asked in a lilting tone. I’d said of course, thinking she’d change her mind after she was sober again. But days later, she presented me with the entire manuscript and now I can’t get her story out of my mind.

“Okay!” Magda practically sang as she sauntered out of my bedroom. “Let’s get Thai food. I can't remember the last time I had decent Thai.”

“Great. I’ll go get it right now.” I turned toward Sky. “Is it okay if I take your car? Bijou will probably wake soon.”

Her shrug emitted a wave of negativity. “Whatever.”

I pretended to take her at her word, like I didn’t get that she honestly hated the situation, and when Magda declared she would stay behind to “get to know Skylar better” I crossed my fingers that they wouldn’t come to blows.

I put on my jacket and shoes, grabbed the car keys, and climbed behind the steering wheel. There was Jo Beth in the passenger’s seat. “Tell that bitch that she has to go,” she said.

“You used to be best friends,” I replied as I put the key in the ignition.

“Yeah, and then she plotted to kill me, so that BFF bond? It’s over!”

I pulled out of the parking lot and switched on the heat, though I knew it would be a while before the car warmed up enough for it to work. I took a deep breath, which came out like a puff of smoke. “Are you cold?” I asked. “Do you feel things like cold anymore?”

“What do you think?” She asked.

“I really have no idea. Does your endocrine system function? If not, how does the lack of your adrenal medulla affect your sleep and your emotions?”

She shook her head. “Stop trying to sound smart, Mitch. It’s too late to impress me and I’m incapable of feeling anything but fury because I’m dead before my time.”

“But I want to understand you.”

“Understand this,” she hissed, right as I swung a left and nearly drove up onto the curb. “If you let Magda hurt Bijou or Skylar, I will hurt you. If you hurt Bijou or Skylar I will kill you. Capiche?”

“I’m not going to hurt either of them!”

“You say that, but Skylar is falling in love with you and you’re doing nothing to stop it! And now you brought Magda here. WTF?!”

“Exactly! Having Magda here is the quickest way to curtail any of Skylar’s feelings for me.”

Jo Beth’s spectral head fell back against the car seat and though it made no noise, I could see the cushion bend to her skull. “Why should I believe you?”

“Believe me or don’t believe me. You’re dead. There’s not a lot you can do about it, either way.”

“That’s what you think,” she whispered, so softly I wasn’t sure that she’d spoken. When I took my eyes off the road and asked her to repeat that, all I saw was a smoke-like fog where she’d just been sitting. In the cold car air, it was like I’d made a huge exhale.