Page 133 of Property of Whiskey

“Then quit saying mistake like you forgot to buy milk.”

Her mouth trembles. “I was sick.”

“You were high.”

“I was addicted.”

“Wren was still alone.”

“I love her.”

“Love didn’t feed her.”

That one hurts her. Maybe I’m an asshole for wanting it to.

Still true.

“If I didn’t find her when I did…”

Beth wipes beneath one eye and looks past me. “You’ve replaced me.”

Cold moves through me. “What?”

“You got another woman in my house.”

“My house. You haven’t lived here for five years.”

“Our daughter lives here.”

“That don’t make it yourn.”

“I can smell her perfume.”

Twila ain’t wearing perfume. She probably smells like barbecue, basement musk, and sex. Considering where my fingers were and where her mouth was before Beth started pounding on the door, perfume ain’t what she’s smelling.

Beth notices the bite mark on my hand, then the one near my shoulder.

Her face hardens.

“You’re fucking somebody.”

“Not your business.”

“Is she around Wren?”

“No.”

“Who is she?”

“Not your business.”

“Club girl?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

A floorboard creaks behind me.