Teresa Mummert: Pretty Little Things

“Your shirt,” she whispered as it fell from her fingertips, pooling at her feet, and her eyes locked on mine.

“Leave,” I barked. My words jarred her, and she ran from my room.

I took my time drying off and getting dressed, not wanting to look Annie in the eye after what she had witnessed. I couldn’t get the image of her out of my head.

I stumbled down the stairs in a black T-shirt and jeans, greeted by Amanda at the base of the steps. We’d been seeing each other for a few weeks. I kissed her cheeks as my eyes searched out Annie. She was standing in the doorway of the dining room wearing the low-cut purple V-neck from last night. Her blatant act of defiance struck a nerve deep inside of me, and she knew it. She was fucking with me.

“I’d watch for pieces of glass in your eggs. Grace isn’t very happy with you,” Annie teased, and I was relieved she wasn’t traumatized by what she had witnessed moments before.

“I told your sister I’d help her cover up that bruise after we ate. She really shouldn’t be allowed to walk in heels.” Amanda stood on her toes to kiss my cheek as I glanced behind me at Annie again, with her tarnished complexion and her still bare feet from last night.

“Just don’t paint her up. She doesn’t need all that shit on her face.” I tried to keep the harshness from my tone, but when it came to Annie, my judgment became clouded.

Amanda smacked my chest playfully, but she always wore more makeup than I liked. Most of it stemmed from her being self-conscious. Not that it mattered. She suited my needs.

I walked around Amanda and sat down at the large, ornately carved dining room table that looked like something right out of a castle. Connor was frivolous with his cash, something I would have to spend years correcting should his fortune ever get handed down to his pretend children.

Grace set my plate down with more force than necessary as she narrowed her eyes, accentuating the crow’s-feet in her olive skin.

“Grace,” I called after her as she retreated into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It slipped.”

“Mm-hmm,” was all she said as she disappeared. At nearly sixty years old, she had no patience for my bullshit. Her snow-colored hair was pinned up in a neat bun. She wore a gray dress made out of what looked like burlap, with a white apron tied around her waist. I’d never seen her in anything else.

The woman must have aged twenty years from putting up with our bullshit. Connor had hired her only a week after he took us in; never having children of his own, he wanted Annie to have a woman around. Grace was more of a grandmother figure, and she played the role like one off a sitcom.

Amanda sat down beside me, her denim skirt riding up her thighs as she stole a piece of my toast and took a bite. Her hair was even blonder than the last time I’d seen her, and I wondered how many more trips to the salon before it was whiter than Grace’s. “I love that shirt,” Amanda said to Annie. I couldn’t help but laugh as I glanced over at her, and she winked, proving her point about my choice of women.

I folded my hands in front of me and looked to Annie, who dropped her fork on her plate and clasped her hands together, annoyed but knowing better than to say so. This was a ritual that carried over from our past and was so ingrained in who I was that I would continue to do it, regardless of my feelings, or lack thereof, toward the commune.

“Dear Lord, thank you for this wonderful food and shelter you have provided us. We ask you, Lord, to help Annie fight back against the evil staircase and to protect her from any other inanimate objects that may bring harm her way, and Lord, please bless her with some clothes that actually fit her.”

“Asshole,” Annie groaned, and I tried to fight back a smile, clearing my throat as I opened my eyes. I shoved a bite of scrambled eggs in my mouth, relieved that Grace hadn’t actually put any glass shards in my food, although I couldn’t have blamed her.

I could hear Connor coughing off in the distance as he made his way to the first floor, the stairs creaking under his expanding weight. We glanced back at him as he entered the dining room, taking a seat at the head of the table. My eyes drifted over his charcoal suit, and I shook my head. “You’re going to work?” I asked, knowing he was too sick, but the man had priorities, I had to give him that.

He cleared his throat as Grace brought in a mug of coffee and set it down in front of him. “Thank you, dear.” He picked it up and took a sip before his eyes landed on mine. “Someone needs to pay for all of this stuff. I have cases that are piling up.” But I knew he had become obsessive with his work when his wife had passed away nearly twenty years ago. He had confessed to me one night, not long after we arrived, that helping others helped ebb the guilt from not being able to do more for her as cancer slowly destroyed their lives.

“It wouldn’t kill you to take a few days off, Connor. Enjoy life a little.” I took a sip of my orange juice, my head still throbbing from my hangover. I’d tried, unsuccessfully, for months to get him to take a vacation. He deserved it for putting up with us for the last few years. The man was a saint. I wanted to help him in any way I could, but he wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll be in Jackson for Annie’s birthday. I need you to keep an eye on the house. Don’t let things get too out of hand.” He changed the subject as the girls continued to eat their food.

“I’m sure Grace will keep everyone in line. No one can put the fear of God into someone like she can,” I joked.

“Except for you.” Connor was expressionless as he glanced at me over the rim of his cup, and my eyes narrowed. He didn’t know the half of it.

“I don’t get paid nearly enough for that task,” Grace teased as she sat in one of the empty chairs with a bowl of oatmeal for herself and a freshly sliced peach on a saucer. “I’ll be going with him to make sure he’s getting plenty of rest and taking his medicine. I better not come back to a mess, ya hear?” She took care of Connor like he was her husband, but their relationship was strictly platonic, even though it would do them both some good to enjoy life a little. Still, it made me smile to know she was spending extra time with him, even if it was because of the flu.

“We’ll keep the party low-key. Just a few friends.” I laughed as I shook my head, knowing it would be out of control. Everyone at Annie’s school, West Haven Private Academy, was dying to get inside our house, as well as everyone from Dyer Public.

“What party? I don’t want a party. I’m not leaving this house until my bruise goes away. I look hideous.” Annie rolled her eyes as she scrunched her nose.

“Oh, honey. You have to have a party. The town will be talking about it the rest of the year. The Blakelys are royalty.” Amanda was grinning as she clasped her hands together in front of her teal polo shirt. No doubt she was thinking of the day I would ask her to marry me so she could be one of the elite. She would be waiting a long fucking time. She was oblivious to the circumstances that had brought us into this lavish estate or the endless line of women who filed through the door.

“The party is happening, and you don’t need to worry about leaving the house because we’re having it here.” I raised my eyebrow at Annie. She glanced up at me and looked back down at her plate. Her cheeks tinged pink next to the purple mark. I knew she had thought we had forgotten.

“What happened to your face?” Annie looked at me before looking to Connor, who was leaning toward her, his elbows on either side of his plate. He was just as overprotective of her as I was, and I was glad I wouldn’t carry the burden of keeping her safe alone.