Monday Mourning

The next thing I knew sun was streaming through my window, the clock said ten-thirty, and Birdie’s face was inches from mine.

And my doorbell was chirping.

Grabbing my bathrobe, I stumbled to the security panel. The monitor showed Ryan wearing a Santa hat with Le Père Noël embroidered on the fur.

I did a two-handed hair-tuck, smiling like Claudel’s happy-face Skivvies.

Onscreen, the outer door opened and a young woman entered the foyer. Black corkscrew curls. Tall. Earrings the size of croquet hoops.

Ryan hugged the woman to his side.

My hand froze halfway to the buzzer. My smile crumbled.

The prom queen.

An iceberg congealed in my chest.

The prom queen turned. Café-au-lait skin. An expression that suggested she’d rather be elsewhere. Tikrit. Kabul. Anywhere but that foyer.

Ryan smiled and squeezed her again. The woman wriggled free and handed him his hat.

Lord God in heaven! Was the egotistical sonovabitch planning to make introductions?

I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror.

“OK, buster.” I jabbed the button. “Bring her on.”

Ryan was alone when I opened the door. The hall behind him was empty.

He’d hidden his teenybopper. Fine. Better.

“Yes?” Glacial.

Grinning, Ryan looked me up and down.

“Entertaining DiCaprio?”

I didn’t smile.

Ryan studied my face.

“It’s funny about eyebrows. You never really notice them until they go awry.”

Ryan reached out to touch my forehead.

“Or go away.”

“You’re here to critique my brows?”

“What brows?”

Not even the hint of a smile.

Ryan crossed his arms. “I’d like to talk.”

“It’s not a good time.”

“You look beautiful.”

I bit back a retort that included the word “bimbo.”

“Sultry.”

My AWOL brows crimped.

“Smoldering.”

The crimp dived into a full-blown frown.

“If I promise no more fire jokes, can I come back in ten? More than enough time to get yourself beautiful.”

I started to refuse.

“Please?” Lapis-lazuli sincerity.

My libido sat up. I sent it flying into tomorrow.

“Sure, Ryan. Why not?”

Coffee. Jeans and sweater. Teeth. Fresh bandages.

Hair? Makeup?

Screw it.

Fifteen minutes later the bell chirped again.

When I opened the door, she was with him.

I stiffened.

Ryan’s eyes locked onto mine. “I’d like you to meet Lily.”

“Ryan,” I said. “Don’t.”

“My daughter.”

My lips parted as my mind processed the meaning of those words.