Free Center Ice by Cate Cameron Page B

About Daddy. It’s just mean things people say; it’s not true. But it still hurts her to hear it.”
    I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I was walking, breathing evidence that he’d fooled around on his wife at least once. And if he’d done it once, why wouldn’t I believe that he’d done it again? But Sara was just a kid, and she loved her father and wanted to believe the best about him. “I’ll try,” I finally said. “Hey, if you hook me up with some other stuff that will bug Miranda, I can focus on using that, and leave the cheating out of it.”
    “Or you could focus on being nice to her,” Sara said firmly. “That might work.”
    “I thought you said you were here to help me?”
    “With watching TV, or holding a book for you or something. Not with finding better ways to be mean!”
    “Fine. Let’s watch TV.”
    “Do you want me to bring it in here?”
    I really did. But I knew the answer she was hoping for. “No. Let’s go out to the rec room. I shouldn’t hide in a cave, right?”
    She beamed at me. “Right.”
    So we staggered out to the big leather couches in the rec room, flopped down, and watched TV all afternoon. It was kind of fun, actually. When Natalie came to the top of the stairs and peered down at us, her expression was cautious, but not angry. “Dinner in five minutes, you two.”
    “Thanks, Mom,” Sara chirped. She turned to me. “Can you wash your hands by yourself?”
    “Yes. But I have to pee, first. Are you ready to help me with that?”
    She made a face, but then said, “You’re sure you can’t do it yourself?”
    I laughed and wanted to tweak her ponytail. “No, I can. Don’t worry about it.”
    “Yell if you get stuck,” she said kindly, and scampered off upstairs.
    Dinner was about as tense as you’d expect, and of course Natalie insisted that Miranda and I have a talk with her and Will afterward. But honestly, what was there for anyone to say? I bitched some, and Miranda bitched and then cried, Will looked completely out of his depth, and even Natalie seemed exhausted by it all. She ended by saying that she was going to set up family counseling, and all of us, even Will, stared at her, hoping she was joking.
    “In the meantime,” she said, ignoring our reactions, “you are both on very short leashes. There will be no more violence. There will be no more insults. Until you can behave yourselves, I recommend no more interaction; just stay away from each other for a while. School starts on Tuesday, and hopefully things will settle down when you’ve got more to occupy your time. I expect the counselor can help us all find more appropriate ways to express ourselves.” Now she turned to look at me. Her face was gentle, but she was still way over the line when she said, “Hopefully the counselor can help you deal with your terrible loss. We know you’ve been through a lot, and we’re absolutely ready to give you space or support you, or whatever you need. We just hope you can get a little better at letting us know how to help.”
    If my gaze produced heat, the encyclopedias I was staring at would have been ablaze by the end of her little speech. I kept my eyes pointed in that direction for as long as possible, then flicked a quick look toward her as I said, “Space? That’s an option? Excellent. I choose it. Give me some space.”
    I expected she was disappointed, but I couldn’t really confirm that without looking away from the bookshelf again, which I wasn’t going to do. It wasn’t like her reaction mattered, anyway. This was about me, not about her.
    “Okay,” she finally said. “We’re here if you need us. And I think Will wanted to talk to you for a while, too.” She looked meaningfully in his direction, and he stood up obediently. “Miranda, you stick around, please,” she added when her daughter tried to get out of her chair again. Then they all stared at me until I stood up and followed Will out of the room.
    I kind of wanted to laugh.