“Maybe. Or maybe Harminee needs a real father figure in her life. Not that pretentious asshat parading around in a teenager’s jeans and a stupid shirt.”
“And where in Wakeford are you going to find this upstanding citizen who’s dying to settle down with a felon, her history of drug abuse and her twelve-year-old child?”
“Fuck you, Missy Jolene. You’re just as much of a hillbilly as I am. You fake being high-class, but everyone can tell what you are. A gold digger who got lucky. A whole lotta nothing.”
“How about a million dollars, Katie? Sign custody over to me, and you’ll walk away with enough money for a lifetime.”
Kaitlyn leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.
Melissa folded hers, too. “Two million.”
“Is that all my baby’s worth to you?” Kaitlyn asked, her voice like the snake’s in the Garden of Eden. “You’re sittin’ on a fortune, Missy-Jo. This house has gotta be worth at least a few mil. And that dead doctor of yours . . . I read about his practice down in New York City. I bet you got a lot more than two million when he died.”
Oh, Dennis. He’d been so good to her and Ophelia. If only he hadn’t died. Melissa swallowed. “Five. That’s life-changing money, Katie. You could do a lot with that. Get an education, travel, buy a house.”
“If you’re offering five mil, I bet you can get up to ten,” Kaitlyn said in the snake whisper.
“We used to love each other,” Melissa blurted. “You and me. You were my only . . . person. I wanted you to come with me, to . . . to get away with me. I loved you, Katie. You’re the only thing I ever missed from my old life. I could’ve erased you from Ophelia’s life, but I didn’t. I let her call you and write to you because I remembered who you used to be. My friend. My smart, funny little sister.”
Kaitlyn just raised one eyebrow, waiting.
“How about this, Katie? You stay clean for a year. I’ll rent you a place in town, and you do a urine test every week, and after a year, you can come live with us, here, in this house. You can have the apartment over the garage, or . . . or I’ll buy you your own place. You’ll be right here, part of her life.”
For a second, she thought she saw the shine of tears in her sister’s eyes. Then Kaitlyn looked out the window toward the bay.
So she knew, then. Kaitlyn knew she wouldn’t be able to stay sober, or be the kind of mother Ophelia needed. “Let’s settle on seven,” Katie said. “You give me the money, and you’ll get the kid.”
Melissa heard a small noise in the hall. She didn’t turn her head or acknowledge it. Please be Teeny, she thought. “Okay. I’ll call a lawyer.”
* * *
Kaitlyn left five days later. She hugged Ophelia, told her she’d see her soon, flipped Melissa the bird and got into her car and drove away. Ophelia didn’t say much, just went to her room and didn’t emerge for a day. Melissa left a tray of cinnamon toast and tea outside her door.
Bradley was upset, too. He felt that she should have “consulted” him because, he said, “giving away that amount of money impacts both our futures, and our unborn child’s.” He was currently attempting a regal disappointment. Money-grubber. Also, he was sleeping in one of the guest rooms, because her snoring had gotten worse, and she soaked the pillows with drool. Oh, and she rubbed her legs against the sheets, because it felt like they were covered with spiders, and it irritated him.
As for sex, that window had slammed shut the last time they’d done it, because parts of her . . . lady garden . . . hurt. He’d better be an incredible father, or she was ditching him. His WASPy charm, his soft voice, his ability to make it seem like he was so much smarter than everyone else . . . if she had a nickel for every time he’d said “Well, actually, that’s not quite true” when she tried to make conversation about current events. He used to find her fascinating. He was basically paid to find her fascinating, the jerk.
She was too tired to care, honestly. She had Ophelia, and the adoption was locked tight, and yes, her net worth had taken a punch.
Two nights after her sister left, Melissa knocked on Ophelia’s door. It was after ten, and though she was tired, Melissa wanted to see her niece. Her daughter now.
Ophelia was curled on her side, looking like she was six years old. Her eyes were closed, lashes resting on her cheeks like an angel’s, a halo of tangled blond curls around her face. Melissa lay down on the covers as slowly as she could manage and put her arm around Ophelia. Took a throw pillow and stuffed it under her stomach. The baby rolled and pressed against Phee’s back, and Ophelia stirred.