“Sophie’s money. From my other daddy. The daddy in the picture.”
The room tilted, just slightly, the way a boat tilts before you realize the water has changed.
“What else did they say?”
She thought hard, lining the words up the way a child lines up beads.
“Evan said, she’ll never suspect. She’s lonely. He said that was the whole point.”
I felt the smile freeze on my face like something painted there.
Across the room, Peter looked up.
“Are you sure those were the words?”
“He said lonely. I know lonely. You said it about Grandma.”
I held her a little tighter so my hands wouldn’t show.
“Did they see you, honey?”
“No. I was getting my shoe. It went under the couch.”
She lifted her foot, the one with the missing white shoe, as if that detail mattered most of all.
Across the room, Peter looked up.
He set his glass down and touched Evan’s arm. Evan turned.
His eyes found mine, and his face changed in a way I had never seen before. Not guilt. Not surprise. A warning, quick and sharp, the look a man gives another man when the wife has wandered too close to the door.
He set his glass down and touched Evan’s arm. Evan turned.
