The Daisy Children by Sofia Grant

Author:Sofia Grant [Grant, Sofia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-05-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Katie came out of the bathroom feeling like a new person.

A person who smelled like mothballs and had a synthetic-lace wedgie and the makings of a blister between her toes from the platform wedge sandals with the little plastic flower clusters on the straps.

“Thanks so much for letting me borrow all of this,” she said, wondering if she should have opted for dirty underwear over the thong Scarlett had supplied. Putting her jeans and boots back on was out of the question, given the fact that the day was turning unseasonably warm—and besides, the fringed white shorts did fit her pretty well, as she’d confirmed by checking out her ass in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

“That top is perfect on you!” Scarlett gasped, rushing over to tug the peekaboo shoulders a little lower, frowning with concentration. “You have got the nicest tits. I’d give my right leg for them, I really would.” She slapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. That was really insensitive.”

“Um . . . I mean, thanks, Scarlett,” Katie said. “I thought it was kind of a nice compliment, actually.”

“Yeah, but—” She pointed out the window at the house next door. “You know, with Jam and all.”

“Sorry . . . I’m confused.”

“Because of his leg.” Scarlett tapped her knee for emphasis. “Oh come on, you didn’t notice?”

“Didn’t notice what?”

“That he’s missing his right leg?”

Katie thought back to the night before, to the figure of a man standing under the eaves of the back porch, arms folded on his chest, watching the mangy dog eat. She certainly hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “It was dark, and he was wearing pants, but—”

“Pants? He must have had an appointment with a new client,” Scarlett said. “That’s the only time he wears pants. And he hardly ever takes new clients, which means he must have been having a good day.”

“That was him on a good day? Could’ve fooled me,” Katie said with feeling. “He was awfully rude.”

“Oh, that don’t mean nothing. He was like that even before he went to Afghanistan.”

Oh, Katie thought.

“But check this out, you have to see what I found.” She picked up an old, threadbare scrapbook and opened it to a faded, sepia-tinted photograph. “This must have been Caroline’s. I’d swear it was you.”

Katie accepted the book, sitting down on the edge of the bed and opening it onto her lap. There, staring up at her, was . . . herself. Her unruly blond hair coming out of its bun, her wide-set pale eyes, her broad forehead and strong jaw, that nose . . . the long, lean shins and slightly chubby knees. Even the same smattering of freckles across her nose.

And in her arms: a perfect cherub of a chortling infant with darling fat little hands and feet and an eyelet romper.

Katie let out a sound, a cross between a sob and a gasp. Without thinking she reached out and touched the baby’s cheek in the photograph.

“I know, it’s amazing, isn’t it?” Scarlett said.

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