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Especially because she wasn’t saying anything.
Nor was she taking my hand.
I dropped it limply at my side.
“Mom,” Zeph said in a low voice. “You’re being rude.”
She looked me up and down, taking in the ripped T-shirt, with holes designed to show off my cleavage and my belly.
Irritation poked a hole in my good mood. She wasn’t the first woman to stare at me like that, and she wouldn’t be the last, but I never took it well. If we hadn’t been in Zeph’s church, and she hadn’t been his mother, I would have already told her where to go.
She ignored Zeph’s warning, her gaze focusing in on Amelia. Or more specifically, the stains on her shirt from a long day of daycare. “Your daughter needs a bath.”
I prickled but tried to rein in my temper. “I’m aware. But thank you for your concern.”
Perhaps it came out a tad sharper than I intended, because the woman clucked her tongue at me.
“Women of your profession should not be allowed to have children,” she mumbled, turning away.
I gaped at her, any pretense of being polite obliterated with that statement. “Excuse me? What the hell does that mean?”
She threw her hands up in the air, clearly exasperated with me. “And she says the H word in a church? What kind of woman raised you?”
I ground my molars and my fingers instinctively closed into fists, ready for a fight. It was one thing to criticize me and my choices, but it was an entirely different kettle of fish to insult my daughter and my grandmother. Gran had taken me in when my hopeless mother had decided babies cried too much when I was only six months old, and we’d rarely seen her since. Gran was my mother. She and Amelia were my two soft spots, and in the space of thirty seconds, this woman had managed to kick both of them.
Anger radiated from Zeph when he stepped between us. For a second, I was ready to lay a fist into him, because how dare he? How dare he get pissed because I wasn’t speaking politely to a woman who was so derogatory to me? I was all for respecting my elders, but only where it was deserved. This woman didn’t deserve an ounce of it.
But then his arm swept me and Amelia behind him as he faced-off with his mother, his broad chest and back blocking us from her sight.
Something inside me lit up with pleasure at the protective gesture.
His mother clearly saw it as such, too, and when I peeked around Zeph’s broad frame, the ire in her eyes was almost amusing.
She ignored the triumphant grin I shot her.
“It’s admirable of you to counsel prostitutes, but when a child is involved, they should just be removed from the mother entirely.”
That wiped the grin right off my face.
“Mommy?” Amelia pulled on the hem of my shorts. “What does that mean? I want to stay with you.”
My heart splintered, half aching for my daughter who had just been dealt a cruel blow of reality before she was ready for it. The other half pure fury at the woman who’d delivered it.
Zeph’s fingers dug into my hip, keeping me in place. His voice lowered to a deadly whisper. “Don’t talk to her like that. She’s not a prostitute. Even if she were, your judgment in a holy place is unwanted. I think you should leave.”
But I was the one who didn’t want to be there anymore. I untangled his fingers from my hip and picked Amelia up, holding her close to my chest even though she hadn’t really liked being held like that for a while. Today, though, she burrowed in, wrapping her arms around my neck and tucking her face into my neck.
“Don’t bother. I’m taking my daughter home.”
I turned and left before Zeph could stop me.
Though I wasn’t even sure he would have. With a mother like that, perhaps deep-rooted judgment and bigotry were the secrets Zeph hid inside.
11
EVE
Lyric stormed into my office, walked right up to the small couch I kept here, and rammed a closed fist into a cushion. “Argh!” She punched it a few more times, until the cushion was well and truly pummeled.
