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I stand, chuckling internally. I’m not sure Hannah owns anything remotely sex-club-worthy.
Ironically, she’s still the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen.
“It’s late. We have to work tomorrow. Go to bed.” I stride toward the door, mostly because if I stay when she’s soft and sweet, I’ll never fucking leave. Unfortunately, the sound of her chair on the sparkly pink floor stops me at the door.
“Thank you,” she says before I reach for the door handle. “For doing this. I know you’ve got a life to live and I know I’m taking a lot of your time.”
Silly fucking girl. My life’s revolved around hers for years.
She just doesn’t know it.
“Goodnight, little doe.”
I don’t stick around to hear her reply.
Hannah
“That one looks like a crab.”
Missy does an impersonation of a crab with her fingers and I can’t help but laugh. This is our favorite place to come lately. The back of the house where no one really ventures to. There’s a tall oak tree that shades the area, so it’s perfect for cloud gazing.
I never took myself, nor Missy for cloud gazers, but it’s simple and life has been anything but, recently.
“What do you think it would be like to be inside a cloud?”
“Wet,” I joke and she chuckles, though halfheartedly.
“I don’t like to think of clouds as water. I like to think of them like cotton or cotton candy. Big fluffy shapes just floating through the sky.”
I try to imagine her world. “There would be little cherubs that lived on top?”
She nods. “And everything would be warm. Light shades of pink and baby blue or soft orange.”
“What would the cherubs eat?”
Her face twists into a grimace and I cringe thinking about dinner last night.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper when she doesn’t answer. She shakes her head.
“There are worse things.”
“It was pretty bad.”
“Stop,” she snaps, cutting me off. I fall back to the ground, looking up at the sky. The clouds are fusing, turning everything a dull shade of gray.
And so the fun stops.
“I hate her, Hannah . . .”
I believe her. Sometimes, I think I hate her, too.
“I hate her for what she is. For how she treats us. For what she did to Dad.”
“She didn’t do anything to Dad. He died of a heart attack.”
“She pushed him to it,” she murmurs darkly, pursing her lips. “All her stupid rules and ambition. She doesn’t care about us. We’re nothing more than pawns to her.”
Worried, I look around us. No one’s near. The gardener is on the other side of the house. Mom’s gone for the week on vacation with her “friend” June, and the nanny she insists we keep on, even though Missy and I are nineteen, is inside, knitting.
