Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“There’s no one else. You know what my job involves.”
Alice’s stomach churned at her mom’s cold snigger.
“That sinister business of yours is not a job,” Clara continued. “You work with deranged people, these so-called agents of yours. Do you think I don’t know of your demonic activities? People who manipulate the weather and fire and the earth… I want you to quit.”
“We’ve spoken about this.” Her dad’s voice held a note of warning. “I can’t have you advertise this to the world.”
“I’m sick of secrets. I don’t care, anymore. If you don’t quit, I’ll tell.”
“You’ll put yourself—our family—at risk. Besides, no one will believe you.”
“I hate you!”
“You can’t carry on like this. Let me get you help, please.”
“You want to lock me up in an institution. You want to declare me insane so you can spend my money and divorce me.”
“The money’s ours, Clara, but I’ve earned it. You squandered your inheritance within the first year.” There was a pause and then his address softened. “You’re setting yourself up for failure by not accepting the inevitable. We’re all growing older.”
Her mother’s voice turned hard. “What are you saying? That I’m not desirable, any longer?”
“I’m saying you have to let it go.”
“Well, I have news for you. Men still find me irresistible. Why look so shocked? It’s the truth. Want to know something else? I slept with Fabian Davis. That weekend in Miami, I wasn’t rehearsing. I was with him on his yacht.”
Alice bit down on the back of her hand to silence a sob. It couldn’t be true. Her parents were happy. She loved her dad. Fabian Davis was the most hateful man on the face of the earth. Everyone knew the tycoon slept his way around the city.
“How long?” her dad asked, his tone flat.
“The better part of a year.”
A long silence followed. She needed to get away, to process what had just happened. She didn’t want her parents to divorce. She didn’t want them to fight. If only her mom had waited for the next review. Maybe the next one would be good.
“Where are you going?” her mom shouted.
“I can take a lot, but this…” Her dad sounded so broken.
“Come back here! Don’t you dare walk out on me!”
“I need time alone.”
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t wait for me to have dinner. I’ll be home later.”
“I swear to God, if you walk out that door, I won’t be here when you get back.”
“I love you, Clara, but I can’t do this, anymore. If you don’t want to be a mother to your daughter and a wife to me, I’ll set you free. I’ll give you a divorce if that’s what you want, but if you decide to stay, we’ll talk about finding you help when I get back.”
“I’ll kill myself! When you come back, there’ll be nothing to talk about because I’ll be dead.”
Her father’s footsteps approached the door.
“I’ll do it, damn you! You’ll be happy to be free of me, won’t you?”
Alice jumped into the spare room and shuffled behind the door. Her dad’s shoes echoed on the marble floor as he made his way downstairs. From the crack between the door and the wall, she watched him go. His suit jacket stretched over his hunched shoulders. It was the first time she saw him with anything but a straight and proud back.
When the front door closed, she took a breath, trying to calm her shaking. Tears ran hot over her cheeks. What if her father left them? What if he never came back? Shame for her mom’s behavior and sadness for her dad grew to anger. How dare her mother destroy their family? She only cared for herself and her stupid voice. Alice wiped her face on her sleeve and pressed her ear against the wall. Next door, her mom was quiet. The next step would be a bottle of wine and sleeping pills followed by a massive hangover the next morning and a day at the spa. Clara would come home with some crazy anti-ageing treatment of snail spit or snake shit that cost a fortune.
Alice sniffed her tears away and ran to her room. She called Becca and went over to her friend’s house for dinner. Not able to face her mom just yet, she spent the evening at Becca’s doing homework. When she got home three hours later, her dad’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway, but all the lights were on up and downstairs.
Steeling herself in case her mom was still awake, she opened the door and listened. The house was quiet except for the ticking of the cuckoo clock. She tiptoed into the entrance, careful not to make any noise. About to flip off the lights, her hand froze in midair as she noticed one red shoe, like a lost Cinderella slipper, in the middle of the floor. She squinted behind her glasses. The velvet stiletto had diamante detail on the bridge. It could only be the shoes her mother had worn for her part in La Traviata, Clara’s favorite and most acclaimed performance. Clara may throw many things around the house, but never her sacred shoes. Alice lifted her gaze to the top of the stairs, almost expecting her mom to be standing there, ready to hurl the other shoe.