The Duplicate

Chapter Twenty-nine

"Mom?!" a shout comes from somewhere within the house. Footsteps, someone walking down stairs—thump, thump, thump. "Hey, Mom! There's a weird-ass car in our driveway! No kick, no kick. Mom?!" Thump, thump—off the stairs now, hardwood floorboards creaking. And a girl, who can't be more than seventeen years old, brushes into the kitchen with a two year old boy squirming on her hip. "Hey, Mom, there's a—" Socked feet skidding to a stop, the girl sees us then.

"Look who came to visit," Aubrey says, placing a full, steaming coffee mug in front of me and Dax. The conversation we just had? Didn't happen. She's the sunshine beam again—smiling wide, eyes bright.

And Dax, who resembles a puddle more than a human at the moment, slumps against the bar and waves his hand. "Hey, Leah."

It takes a second for Leah to recognize him. The two year old lets out a bray of nonsense words in her ear. His tiny fists cling and pull at her baggy pajama top. Absentmindedly, she shoves his hand away. "Oh... hey, David." She hoists the boy a little higher and looks at me.

"These are David's friends." Aubrey doesn't look at Trip as she sets his coffee out for him and gestures at us both. "This is Evette and Trip. They're all going to stay a little while for a nice visit. Isn't that cool?" Slippers scuffing, she makes her way over to the fridge—slyly watching Leah, trying to judge her reaction.

Her daughter is staring at me, blankly.

"Hi." I try my best to smile, even though my heart is galloping. How many trembling spoonfuls of sugar have I dumped into my coffee? I don't even know. My eyes keep zipping back and forth between the girl and the toddler, mind racing, stomach churning. A very strong urge to tip Dax's stool over is starting to rise up in me.

Finally, one side of Leah's nose scrunches up. "What happened to your face?"

"Leah!" Aubrey chides.

"What? I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just asking. It's not like she doesn't know about it. It's on her face."

With a carton of eggs in one hand and a package of bacon in the other, Aubrey shakes her head at me. "I am so sorry—"

"It's okay." I raise my palm. And off the top of my head, I add, "I was mugged."

Leah winces. "That must have sucked." Her eyes shift.

I hadn't noticed. Trip is beside me now, crooking his fingers around the handle of his coffee. Holding my breath, I lift my eyes, expecting to see a ring of hell fire raging around him, lava spewing out of his mouth. But, instead, I find his gaze solid as ice. Expression, stone-cold, void of emotion. He doesn't look at the toddler. He doesn't look at anyone—except me. Chillingly, his eyes touch on mine, and in that short instant I silently beg the ice-devil not to crack.

Please, Trip, don't do anything insane.

He turns and goes back to the window. Oh God, he is pissed.

Aubrey switches on one of the gas burners of her stove. "Is your father up, Leah?"

I let out a slow breath and spoon even more sugar into my coffee.

"Yeah. Mom..." Leah looks like she's just been slapped. Dazed, eyes focused on nothing, mouth dangling open. Slowly, she lowers the boy—who is kicking now—to the floor. And with a slight shake of her head, she snaps out of it. Her hand flies to her matted hair. She blinks rapidly at her mother. "Why didn't you tell me we were going to have company over?"

"I didn't know. David wanted to surprise—"

Before Aubrey can breathe another word, Leah spins around. "I'll go tell Dad." Socks slipping once on the hardwood, she rushes out of the kitchen and runs straight into the tall, thin man who has just rounded the corner.