“It went well. There was just one today. I’m all done for the year.” Another year at Host under my belt and I couldn’t be happier.
“Nice.” She repositions herself so the little girl can see Barron better as her laughter hits ear-piercing octaves. It’s cute, though—reminds me of an exotic parakeet with her crystal-shattering crescendos.
“Looks like Barron boy has a little girlfriend.”
The smile dissipates from Skyla’s face as if the thought offended her.
“Skyla”—I whisper as I lead us to the corner—“who is she?” I spot Logan narrowing his eyes over at me before he heads this way. “What’s going on? It’s me. We’re done with secrets, right?” My stomach cinches as if to call myself out on the lie.
“Yes.” She looks to Logan, and her brows peak as if she’s about to cry. “God, yes. This is silly actually.” Her lips quiver, and it’s becoming obvious whatever this is, it’s anything but silly.
A million insane thoughts sail through my mind and the most ridiculous of them catches. “Is this—did you resurrect her?”
“No.” She shields the baby’s head as if I had just cast a pox on her. “I saw my mother today.” She glances at the ceiling, and immediately I realize who she’s talking about.
“Shit,” I hiss without meaning to. Candace Messenger has had it out for me since before my conception. Whatever the hell Skyla is afraid to tell me can’t be good. “What does this precious baby girl have to do with your mother? She’s not your mother, is she?” I twirl a blonde lock of hair around my finger, and the tiny thing gives a hearty laugh, her marbled aqua eyes set on my own. I can’t help but smile back. Everything about her is the embodiment of joy and it’s contagious.
“No,” Skyla growls as she glances up once again. “Trust me, that would have been much easier.” She takes a deep breath, and Logan stands next to her, both of them silently pleading with me to understand. But what?
“Gage.” Logan pinches his eyes closed a moment. “We never meant for this to happen.”
Skyla gives a frenetic nod. “And if I had my way, it would never happen.”
The baby girl lets out a squeal and claps her hand over Skyla’s mouth as if trying to slap her.
“What I mean is—” Skyla takes the baby girl’s hand and gives it a quick kiss. Something about that small insignificant action unsettles me. Skyla does that to our kids, sure, but a stranger’s child? Nursing her? Kissing her tenderly as if she were her own?
“What the hell is going on?”
“What Skyla is trying to say is”—Logan takes the child from her—“Candace dropped our daughter off in Tenebrous this afternoon.”
“It was a stupid ploy,” Skyla says it so fast my mind registers it as one solid word.
“Whose daughter?” My head swims, trying to digest Logan’s words. “Did you say your daughter?”
“Yes.” Logan offers that depressed grin that only he can pull off when he’s in the shitter, and right now I feel like I’m right there with him. “Look, we don’t know why Candace does what she does.”
Then it hits me. This little girl is their child—Skyla and Logan’s daughter—a child born of their love—of their sexual union.
I touch my finger to her tiny hand, and she curls her fingers around it, strong and sure, and I see Skyla there in her eyes.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Oh my God.” She laughs, and I see Logan there in her smile. My stomach sinks straight to hell, and my limbs feel heavy as lead. For a moment, I think I might drop Barron under the weight of this new reality. “What’s her name?”
“I’m sorry.” Logan shakes his head at me, and we lock eyes, cold and weary for what feels like two years. Logan and I have always been warring over Skyla, one-upping the stakes whenever we could. It always seemed that fate was on my side, or at least until this moment, this entire heartbreaking year. “We’re calling her Angel.” He bounces her in his arms, and she claps and laughs hard at the irony of her name. Barron leans over and grabs a handful of her hair, and she screams right at him until he relents. “It’s sort of a placeholder. We haven’t really named her. She just landed in our arms.”
Skyla takes Barron from me and leans in until I wrap an arm around her waist and it feels like a relief. Like the noose that was just placed over our marriage was just as quickly lifted.
“I can have Marshall help us take her back to paradise.” Her voice grows heavy and weary. “I mean, I can’t feed three babies, can I?” She nods up at me as if asking for permission.
Something in Logan’s eyes flickers like a fire of rage before he blinks it back. “We’re not taking her anywhere. We’re keeping her right here.” He looks right at me with an apology in his eyes before he ever says it. “I’ll take care of her, Skyla. You don’t have to feed her.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Her voice breaks, and tears run down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Gage. I was just trying to soften the blow with stupid words I didn’t mean. I’m with Logan. I don’t have the heart to send her back to paradise either.”
“And I would never ask you to.” I flick my fingers until Logan hands her to me, and Barron laughs as she carefully touches his hair, his face with her open palm. She’s solid, heavier than the boys but longer, her delicate features unmistakably feminine, and those kaleidoscope eyes. My heart melts and breaks all at once. I’m holding the evidence of their love. Skyla and Logan will at some point in time make this beautiful tiny being. My boys will love her, protect her to the death, and all I want to do is wash her in my tears. So this is the heft of the heartbreaking weight that Logan felt when Skyla and I had the boys. Only so much worse because he got to witness the buildup. He gets to see me pawing his once-wife with my meat hooks day after day, plying her with kisses, my eyes always bent on lewd intent. It’s a cruel thing fate has done, intertwining our hearts, all of our lust around the very same woman.
“She’s beautiful.” I offer a depleted smile down at the perfect little angel, blonde like her mother, like Logan, long lashes, and an ever so slight dimple low on her cheek. “She’ll grow up to look just like you, Skyla.”
Skyla grunts as if this were a bad thing. “I don’t doubt it. I’m my mother’s clone by design, and don’t forget the favor she thinks she did Mia by doling out the same genes.” She says favor with air quotes.
Yes, Mia may be Lizbeth’s daughter, but Candace made sure her features were heaven-sent to resemble that of her sister’s, and, of course, her.
“So this is her doing.” I press a kiss to the top of Angel’s head. Her hair feels slippery as silk. “Candace is reassuring you about the future.” I try to make it sound light, not at all the morbid newsflash it really is. “You know, preparing you for my mortal demise.” It sounds ridiculous now that I’ve said it out loud. “She’s made it clear whose team she’s on.” Literally. I shake my head without meaning to.
Skyla opens her mouth just as the doorbell rings, and we glance over as my mother ushers in Casey, one of the dead from next door. In fact, she’s one of the last residents staying at the house. Logan is staying with her, and so is Lex, but the rest of the dead are on the first leg of their mission—en route to be captured.
She speeds over, her eyes fixed on Logan’s. “Aren’t you watching the news? They’ve captured the mean girls! And some other girl I’ve never even heard of!” She shakes her head at Skyla. “I don’t think she was one of us—I mean me. I don’t think she was dead.”
“Shit,” Skyla mutters under her breath, and I help turn the television to the local news. We check our phones like mad as the commercials come to a conclusion, and sure as shit, the G-men are shown arresting four girls for shoplifting.
“Shoplifting?” Skyla looks up at me as if I have the answer, and deep down, the sexist pig who lives in me loves it. I crave Skyla’s affection, for her to need me, to look up to me if only to account for the practical height difference.
“Yes.” And, unfortunately, I think I really do have the answer.
“They’re sending a message to the rest of us. They’re making arrests, hauling us off to government pastures.”
“They’re speaking in code.” Logan purses his lips as he looks to the screen. He squints in hard before finding the remote and rewinding the feed. “Is that Chloe in the back, talking to one of the officers?” He looks to Skyla for answers. We both do.
Her mouth opens as she takes Angel and jostles her over her hip. “Casey”—she turns her attention to the girl—“have you spoken to anyone about this?”
The frightened girl gives a slight nod. She’s so young, so emotionally fragile, I wish she hadn’t signed up for this at all. I’ve seen those men and women parading around the island like they’ve got a chip on their shoulders, because they do. They’re out for blood. Wes has the entire world shaken with his ridiculous clown sightings, those UFO reprisals which have the planet in a tizzy. This isn’t the best news for any one of our people, especially not those about to pay the price for their commitment.
“Okay.” Skyla takes up her hand. “Do you still want to do this? I can arrange for my mother to help you find another way home.”
“No,” she’s quick to protest. “I’m d-doing this,” she stammers. “The others are ready, and so am I. But who is that fourth girl, Skyla? Is she one of us?”
Logan skips ahead on the remote until the feed is live, and they show the faint hint of a redheaded girl leading the pack. The camera shot pulls away, and it’s impossible to make out their faces, but that wildfire hair, that erratic gait, the gesticulating she’s doing to the officer leading her by the elbow into his vehicle.
“I know her,” I offer. “Or at least I think I do.” Skyla and Logan wait with bated breath. “It’s Melody Winters. And she is very much one of us. I checked my father’s records. The Winters date back as far as the registry goes.” I take a deep breath. “I can check the records again, see what lineage. I just glanced over it.”
“Yes.” Skyla looks stunned by the fact Melody was taken. “I’d like to do that with you sometime.”
The boys whine until we land them over a quilt on the carpet and Skyla sets down her newfound baby girl next to them. Like a lightning bolt, she crawls over to the boys and my mother appears, praising the sight as if she’s never witnessed the event before.
“What a treat to have a little girl in the house. How long will you have her?” She looks to Skyla, and my stomach bottoms out. Had she told my mother about her? And in all of the ironies is my mother seemingly cheerleading the event?
Skyla looks to me and nods. “Jen—Laken’s sister is out of town for a bit, so I volunteered to keep an eye on her.” She glances back to my mother. “With Laken, of course.”
My mother shakes her head with disapproval. “Now that you’re a mother, you’ll need to familiarize yourself with the word no. If word gets out that you’re a pushover when it comes to babysitting, you’ll—”
I’m quick to cut her off, “End up with the largest daycare center on the island?”
The room breaks out into a warm laugh, and thankfully it seems to have cut the tension between my mother and Skyla. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how to turn down the volume of their shared disdain for one another.
Dinner goes off uneventful, sans the fact Ellis demonstrates—mostly to Giselle—his ability to inhale a noodle into his nose and pull it through his mouth. Once Ellis noshes on the meal he’s extracted, he and Logan proceed to talk about the construction that’s set to begin next week. It’s business as usual. Skyla and I have the boys in their high chairs, and my mother insists on feeding them the strained peas and string beans she’s made just for them. But my eyes keep flicking back to Logan with little Angel on his lap as Skyla sits next to him and spoon-feeds their daughter. Here I was all set to surprise Skyla with a day at Rockaway tomorrow, something fun to celebrate another school year under my belt, the end clawing ever so close. And now the only end I feel clawing near is that with Skyla. It can’t be. Candace wouldn’t let that happen so soon. She realizes I’m Skyla’s husband. The father of her favorite two grandsons. My God, I can’t leave now. I have too much work left to do.
The night drones on, and Logan comes home to Whitehorse along with his daughter. He sleeps in the guest bedroom down the hall while Skyla and I stay in the master with the boys. But Skyla never sleeps. She feeds the boys before going down the hall to the bedroom where Logan coos over his beautiful baby girl—and my God, she might be the most beautiful baby girl I’ve ever seen.
Skyla doesn’t come back to bed.
I didn’t think she would.
That night, I dream many dreams—starting off with a fan favorite, Skyla, Logan, and me back at West, back in those mythical halcyon years where we were unstoppable in our unity. And after that, I dream of water. There’s always water in this hallucinogenic world of my own making. I’m wading through a stream that quickly morphs into an ocean, only the water isn’t blue, or clear, or even green. It’s red. And I marvel as I stare down at the sanguine liquid. It’s blood. It’s my own. And just like that, my lids blink open.
I give a lazy flutter of the lids, my hand swooping over the cool bedside next to me where my wife usually warms the sheets. But Skyla isn’t there. I shouldn’t have expected her to be. It’s been a solid week, and we are still at Whitehorse. Skyla is spent. Her energy depleted. She’s begged Ezrina to help her figure out which formula comes closest to breastmilk because she wants to start supplementing, and I don’t blame her. She’s tried feeding Angel right along with the boys, and it’s drained all the color from her skin, the purple rings under her eyes are a testament to the fact it’s not the greatest idea. She’s taxing her body and her mind. Skyla is housebound for the most part, but on the odd moment she does leave, she takes off with Chloe. She claims they’re turning in the dead to the government, and sure enough, in each city they venture off to, a vague article on petty crime pops up. Skyla swears that she’s keeping out of danger, that Chloe is doing all the heavy lifting—but with Chloe around, Skyla is only keeping company with danger. When I asked how they were traveling, Skyla said they’re light driving. She’s not playing with fire. She’s making love to it, letting it enter into places that it never should be in the first place. Skyla is already burned beyond recognition. She just doesn’t know it yet.
It’s the night of Brielle and Drake’s shared bachelor, bachelorette party before their big do-over in a couple of weeks. Bree mentioned she needed ample time between the big party and the big event. In all honesty, knowing how much Bree and Drake like to party, they’ll need a couple of weeks to rid themselves of the hangover.
Skyla and I stop by the Landon house to drop the boys and Angel off. Logan comes along for the ride because in a week’s span of time he’s become the world’s most doting father, making me feel like a bad dad by a paternal mile. He went insane one night on the Internet, and the next day everything that you might need for a child arrived at his doorstep. He gave Skyla the task of filling Angel’s closet and handed over his credit card like some sort of American Express god. And as much as I may not want to admit it, Skyla was in pink-ruffled-tutu-bow-wearing-sparkly-shoed heaven. Every time she made a purchase, she bounced around the house with glee. I’ve never seen her so thrilled to shop for the boys, but, in her defense, I’ve never handed over my plastic as if it were a Black Card and let her have at it.
“Knock, knock!” Skyla sings as we stride on in. The Landon house looks the same, slightly chaotic with a sprinkling of toys and pets everywhere. It smells the same, perhaps better than usual because Emily has all but taken over the kitchen. Tonight, it’s grilled cheese, using her favorite vegan cheese replacement, I’m sure. Em might have turned into a world-class granola cruncher, but hot damn, the girl can make shoe leather taste like filet mignon. Yes, we’re eating vegan, organic fare that she has Drake ante up for, but we are eating like kings. Not to sound like an ass, but Em has found her calling. I’d encourage her to open a restaurant, but I’m wise
enough to put it off until Skyla and I are out of the house for good. Just the memory of Lizbeth’s cooking brings the bile up in the back of my throat.
“Jessie, Mary, and Joseph!” Tad grunts at the sight of us. “Told you she was keeping the stray.” He points his cane in little Angel’s direction. The cane is a new addition, but long overdue in my opinion. My stomach grinds hearing him go off like that because I’m so fucking sick of Tad’s insular behavior.
“She’s not a stray.” I lean Nathan in toward the tiny tot, and they give one another open-mouthed, sloppy, wet kisses on the cheek, and the entire room melts in a puddle of oohs and ahhs.
“Skyla!” Lizbeth scoops Barron from her. “God, she’s so adorable! How are you ever going to give that little princess back?” She gives Angel’s cheek a squeeze, and the little girl trills a sweet laugh to the ceiling right from her father’s arms. Logan has held her longer, stronger this week than anything he’s ever touched in his life.
Tad honks out a laugh. “Now that’s the best idea you’ve ever had. Give that creature back to its mother. She’s probably some teen queen who’s off enjoying her summer vacay.” He wags a crooked finger at his wife. “And don’t think for a minute these two coconuts haven’t thought about doing the same.” He waddles right up to my face, and the urge to deck him rises in me. “Listen here, Greg. You’ve got enough of your own responsibilities now. Don’t you go letting the little woman snap up kids off the street left and right, or you’ll end up like me—in a house full of spider monkeys trying to crawl into your pants!”
There are so many things wrong with that sentence I don’t know where to begin.
“Don’t worry.” I offer a placid smile. “I won’t end up like you.” If anything, Tad’s existence as a whole is more or less a cautionary tale.
“Okay”—Skyla hands the bloated diaper bag to Melissa—“I’ve already fed them dinner, but I threw in a few extra jars anyway. And if you could put the bottles in the fridge right away, I’d appreciate it.”
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