Free The Space Between Us by Megan Hart

anyway.”
    “So you don’t get zits,” Simone said, with the sort of happy grin a kid gets when she’s having her way.
    “Yep. No zits.” At twenty-six I thought I should’ve grown out of zits, but I usually had a sweet monthly reminder that that wasn’t the case. “Sit up here.”
    She hopped up on the edge of my sink, her little feet banging against the cabinet beneath until I gave her a stern look and she stopped. I told her to close her eyes, then outlined the upper lids with the glitter liner. It was just cheap stuff, marketed to tweens, using the face of some ditzy pop idol, but as with all things glittery and sparkly, I loved it. So did Simone. She hummed happily as I painted a design on her cheek using a different color of liquid liner—surely her dad couldn’t complain about that, right? It was like face-painting at a carnival.
    “There. What do you think?”
    She twisted to peer in the mirror, brow furrowed. She looked more like her dad when she did that. Critical. Then she grinned. “I like the flower!”
    “Good. Now,” I said, lifting her down and patting her on the rear, “scram, kid, I gotta get ready.”
    “You’re going on a date,” Simone crooned in a sing-song voice. “Right? That’s what Daddy told Mama.”
    “Oh, did he?” It was my turn to frown then. Just a little. I glanced at myself in the mirror.
    “Yep.” In the glass, Simone’s reflection shrugged, barely interested.
    “Well…sure, I’m going on a date.”
    “Are you gonna kiss him?”
    I turned to look at her. “Where do you get this stuff?”
    “TV,” Simone said blithely.
    “You should read more,” I muttered, which was ridiculous, since the kid wasn’t even in preschool. “Now go on. Get out of here. I’m busy, kid.”
    She did reluctantly, my date preparations apparently more interesting even than the television. From upstairs I heard the pounding of small feet and the cries of welcome—Vic was home. I’d probably have to face him, too, before I went out.
    Sure enough, I found them all in the kitchen when I emerged from the basement. Elaine, her belly leading the way as she moved from the pot of mac-n-cheese on the stove to the table, gave me a once-over, but said nothing. Vic, on the other hand, snorted softly and shook his head. But he didn’t say anything, which told me a lot—there were times in the past when he’d have been unable to keep his mouth shut. Marriage had mellowed him.
    “Have a good time,” Elaine said as she plopped a spoonful of yellow noodles on Max’s plate. “Be careful.”
    I laughed. Just going on this “date” felt like the opposite of careful. “I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”
    “We’ll leave the light on for you,” Vic said.
    “Oooh, you and Tom what’s-his-face from Motel 6.” I paused to squeeze Vic’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
    “Cap said your car will be ready tomorrow.” Vic held up his plate for his own portion of macaroni and gave me a long, steady look. “I can give you a ride to the shop in the morning, if you want.”
    It was his way of asking if I planned on coming home. Number one, it wasn’t really his business. Number two, I doubted I’d have a different offer. Three, I had my brother’s car anyway, so I just smiled and winked at him, a response guaranteed to drive Vic batty. Elaine laughed, though. For someone who loved him enough to marry him and have his babies, she surely did like to tease.
    It was good for him, to be teased like that. And to be loved.
    “Later, gators,” I said, and was out the door before any grubby hands could streak my clothes.
    * * *
    Meredith had called it a date, and I assumed she’d meant it whimsically. Still, I’d dressed accordingly. My heart beat faster, my palms a little sweaty, and I felt as much anticipation as if it were a date. Maybe more.
    We’d agreed to meet at The Slaughtered Lamb because, according to Meredith, they had a shepherd’s pie to die for, and live music. Some Irish band I