“Anytime.” Something in his voice made me think he really meant it. And I wondered if they still gave you one phone call from jail.
CHAPTER 20
My cell phone rang as I stuffed the last of the goodie bags. My mother’s name flashed on the screen, and I considered not picking up. Zach was running circles through the kitchen, his diaper hanging low, a ribbon of orange streamer hanging from the crack of his butt like a tail. Delia and her friends chased after him, ordering him to “sit” and “stay.”
“Hi, Mom. It’s kind of a bad time.” I wedged the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I poured bags of pretzels and Goldfish crackers into serving bowls. My house was already crawling with kids. I just hoped Vero made it home with the pizzas soon.
“I won’t keep you. Your father and I are having cocktails on the Promenade Deck at five. I’ve always wanted to say that.” She tittered. My parents were celebrating their fortieth anniversary on a cruise ship somewhere in the Mediterranean. “Let me talk to the birthday girl.”
I grabbed Delia by the back of the shirt as she scurried by. The doorbell rang. I pressed the phone to my chest and counted heads. All the girls Delia had invited were already here. I’d been expecting Steven nearly an hour ago, but he never bothered to announce himself; he usually just barged in.
The doorbell rang again. My feet were rooted in place. What if it was the police? What if they came to arrest me during my daughter’s birthday party? Or worse, what if it was Andrei and Feliks?
“Aren’t you going to answer the door, Mommy?” Delia asked.
I thrust my cell in her hands. “Here, talk to Grandma. She called to wish you happy birthday.”
Wiping Goldfish cracker crumbs on my jeans, I crept to the door and peered around the curtain just as the boy on the other side stood on his tiptoes and reached for the bell a third time. Relief washed over me. I threw open the door and flung a hand over the buzzer, my nerves fried. “Hi, Toby. What are you doing here?” Toby’s dad was a friend of Steven’s, but Toby and Delia weren’t close. He hadn’t been on the guest list, which had consisted entirely of girls.
Toby shrugged. A gift bag dangled from one hand, and he swiped at his snotty nose with the other. He gestured down the street toward his father’s house. “My dad heard Delia was having a party. He dropped me off. He had somewhere to go.” Toby walked under my arm into the foyer. “He said I could eat lunch here.” Toby spent weekends with his dad. And his dad spent most of those weekends stealing time with his new girlfriend, pawning Toby off on his neighbors and friends. I didn’t have the heart to turn him away.
“The pizza and cake will be here soon. But there are crackers and pretzels in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”
“I’m gluten-intolerant,” he said, dropping Delia’s present on the floor and helping himself to the bag of party favors I’d been stuffing.
“Of course you are.” I felt a headache coming on. I turned to shut the door and slammed face-first into a brightly colored box. I backed up to make room as Steven carried it into the house, his face obscured by the huge pink bow on top. Theresa followed him, her heels clacking on the hardwood, her outfit decidedly dressy for a five-year-old’s birthday party. “What’s this?” I asked Steven.
“It’s Delia’s present,” he said, loud enough to draw her attention as he set it on the floor beside Toby’s gift bag. Delia whirled, thrusting my phone at me as she sprinted across the kitchen into his arms. I uttered a quick good-bye to my mother and disconnected. Steven brushed back Delia’s spikes, kissing her forehead before setting her down. My headache sharpened when Delia ran to hug Theresa next.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, determined to take the higher road, even though he was almost an hour late. It could be worse. He could have chosen not to come at all.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. Theresa looped her arm around Steven’s. She smiled tightly at the balloons and streamers, her disapproving gaze landing everywhere but my face.
“And thanks for letting us have her party here.” My gratitude stuck in my throat. Having the party here had been Theresa’s idea. The kids technically belonged to Steven on the weekends, but she didn’t dare risk having a horde of feral five-year-olds trash her tidy house, and Steven had balked at the rental fees to have it someplace else. I pasted on a pleasant smile. “Is Aunt Amy coming? Delia was hoping she’d be here.”