Page 38 of Artemis Fowl (Artemis Fowl 1)

Like we’re a family. A family where my husband wraps his hand around the nape of my neck to remind me he is in control. To keep me within arm’s reach. As if I could ever forget that I’m his.

6

Jericho

For the first time in her life, we take Angelique to story time at a bookstore. Angelique sits on the carpet, Baby Bear on her lap, forming a circle with a dozen other kids. They’re all roughly her age. We’re in the children’s book section of a small bookshop. A Thomas the Tank Engine table stacked with toy trains in a village sits in the corner. We’re surrounded by the vibrant colors of stuffed animals, toys and books as well as an elaborate mural of a fairy tale world along the far wall. The children’s section is in the back of the bookstore. I hover at the arched entry between it and the rest of the shop. My mother and Isabelle sit near Angelique and listen to the woman reading the story.

All I can do is watch my daughter’s face. She’s smiling, happy, clapping her hands and singing along as much as she can. She doesn’t know the words to the songs the other children seem to know by heart. When she falters she watches the others. I think she’s trying to mimic them, to fit in. It twists something inside me. I don’t like that she has to do that.

Dex comes to stand beside me. “She’s enjoying herself.” Dex has been here for most of Angelique’s life. At some point, she took it upon herself to call him Uncle Dex. I never corrected her.

“Yeah.” She is.

“How was your meeting?” he asks after a long minute as a song finishes and Angelique catches my eye. She gives me a happy little wave.

I smile back and wave, but the smile is mechanic. “I found what I was looking for.” Found what I wish I hadn’t.

He doesn’t comment. He knows why I went to Austria.

I take a breath and exhale, turn to him. “Now to understand why.”

He nods.

The kids start to rise, mothers pushing strollers loaded with younger siblings walking over to collect their children. Angelique beelines to Isabelle, who takes her hand and ushers her over to a bookshelf. They spend the next ten minutes choosing books. My mother, witnessing this, walks toward Dex and I.

“She’s just the shiny new thing,” I tell her, not wanting her to feel hurt over Angelique’s obvious preference for Isabelle.

“Oh, I’m not hurt, Jericho,” she says, patting my hand. “Isabelle is good for her.”

I watch them too. She is. I can see it from here.

“But she’s not her father,” my mother adds.

I smile. “I’m not hurt either,” I tell her, realizing it’s not quite true as I speak the words.

“Well, if you were, it would be natural.”

I grit my teeth because my mom knows me well.

“Can we buy these, daddy?” Angelique asks, carrying a stack of books. Isabelle follows behind.

“Aren’t they a bit difficult for her?” my mother asks Isabelle after looking through them.

“I don’t think so. Angelique is quite a good reader already.”

“And I want a notebook like Belle’s please,” Angelique says.

I raise my eyebrows and look at my wife.

“For music,” Isabelle says and turns to Angelique. “I usually make my own. If you have an empty notebook, we can make—”

“Buy what you need. For yourself too.”

Isabelle looks up at me like she wants to say something but then she takes Angelique’s hand, leading her to what I guess is the music section. We follow them and a few minutes later, Angelique has two more books, a notebook, and a new stuffed animal. She is exhilarated. I see it in the brightness of her eyes. The flush of her cheeks. She’s looking everywhere, at everything, and beaming.

“Can you take care of this?” I ask Dex, handing him my credit card.

“Sure. Come on, kid,” he says. “Piggyback?”

“I’m getting too old for piggyback rides, Uncle Dex,” she says, but hops on excitedly anyway.

My mother follows them and when Isabelle tries to pass me, I touch her arm, halting her. She looks at me. “What?” Any sweetness she has in her voice for Angelique is gone.

“Why do you make your own notebooks?”

“Why do you care?”

“Isn’t it easier to just buy them?”

“Just buy them. That’s what people with money do, right? Just buy things. Anything they want. Including people.”

“Is it money?” Her cheeks flush and her gaze wavers. I know it is. She’s embarrassed. “Is that also why you’re not in school?”

She folds her arms in front of her. “I have a music group I study with. Or I used to.”

“Not a music school?”

“Again, why do you care?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Just curious.”

“No, not a school. I didn’t have money for school, so I found a group I could afford to study with. I used the meager allowance Carlton gave me. Satisfied? I won’t be humiliated for not having money. For not being allowed to have a job or go to school.”