The Best of Crimes by K.C. Maher

The Best of Crimes by K.C. Maher

Author:K.C. Maher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RedDoor
Published: 2019-03-19T16:00:00+00:00


Fourteen

Before running home to change into jeans for skating, Amanda glances back and winks. She stretches out her arms, and turning, pulls them in close, like a figure skater.

And here she is already, eager to go. Circling the kitchen, she’s wearing a poppy-colored sweater beneath the white ski jacket. I lower my eyes to conceal my pleasure at her every gesture. You would think I had never glimpsed her burnished beauty before.

‘Are you wearing good socks?’ I ask. ‘They need to be very snug.’

She lifts her jeans to show me new socks that match her sweater. ‘Have you heard from Olivia today? Because I just sent you a video she sent me.’ As the words leave her mouth, Amanda realizes that, of course, I haven’t seen the video, and dashes upstairs for my laptop.

But I’m faster and catch her on the landing. Sending her back to the kitchen, I say, ‘New rule, remember?’ And, ‘Give me two minutes.’

In my bedroom, I pull on a thick black cashmere sweater and glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I gargle and spit out a bit of mouthwash, grab the laptop and bound back to the kitchen.

Amanda fixes me with her amber-gold eyes at full smolder, a heightened torment aimed at me for imposing rules. If protecting her, nurturing her, weren’t more important than anything else, my willpower would crumple like an empty husk.

I open the laptop and show her the rink at Rockefeller Center. ‘What do you think? It’ll be crowded. If you want, we can find a quieter skating rink.’

‘But I’ve seen this one in movies. Please, Walter? We’ve got to go there.’

All right by me. First, however, she wants to show me the video of Olivia. I open my email. We watch Karl skateboard back and forth as he instructs my daughter to roll down a concrete slope. Olivia’s skateboard drops from an embankment onto the sidewalk and she lands on it nicely.

‘She promised—no stunts.’

‘That’s why she sent it to me and said, make sure he notices the helmet.’

I smile and send Olivia a text: Brava, sweetheart!

Driving south on the Saw Mill Parkway, we listen to Real Miranda songs. The best one features Iris and the sound of chimes.

‘Walter, will you watch the start of the new season with me on Christmas night?’

‘What if Cheryl’s here?’

‘Shit. We’ll have to wait till she leaves.’

I resist asking if she’s dispensed with: ‘Man, oh man.’

‘Olivia calls me almost every week now to make sure you’re not lonely.’

‘Why doesn’t she call me?’

‘She likes being independent.’ Amanda leans over to nudge my shoulder. ‘Not like Cheryl’s kind of independent. More like Karl’s her best friend and they both love Granny, who tells Olivia that it’s your job to worry about her. And that, of course, you’re not worried, because you know O’s happy living in Maine.’

Impulsively, I take Amanda’s hand and tell her that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

She says, ‘No shit?’ (Guess ‘shit’ is the new word.) ‘I thought so and hoped so, but, you know—grown-ups.



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