A blank face was better than a tear-stained one, haunted by memories. Empty eyes were better than ones that were red-rimmed and longing for a life that was out of reach. Lips stretched into a taut, straight, tense line were better than ones that gasped like the air had suddenly grown thin and unbreathable.
"Mom?"
Zara's voice was quiet, uncertain. I blinked, threw on an easy, carefree smile and looked back at my daughter in the rearview mirror.
"What's up, baby?" I asked, checking the road like it was my only worry in the world.
"Where are we going?"
I forced my smile higher, deeper. "I'm taking you to school," I answered. "I don't want you to be late."
My cheeks ached and I looked again into the rearview mirror to reassure my daughter, only to find her attention focused on the passing tumbleweeds out the window, her face blank, her eyes empty, her lips drawn into a taut, straight, tense line.
I allowed my smile to fall, like a mask tumbling from my face. But I didn't feel any sense of relief. The lie was deeper than my lips. The lie was rooted in my heart. The lie that I was fine.
Fine.
Totally fine.
Michael
I was quaking with anger as I finally stormed into the law offices of Levi, Levi, & Burke on the top floor of a skyscraper in Denver. My tie was askew and rumpled, my back drenched in sweat, my pants stained, and my suitcase gone. The receptionist at the front desk visibly scooted back in her wheeled chair as I stalked toward her, wild-eyed and crazed and fuming. She seemed ready to lunge for the phone to call the police about a homeless intruder as I slammed my hands flat against the wide marble desk, making her jump.
On a normal day I might have noticed her cleavage straining against opal buttons a heavy sigh away from popping. On a normal day I might have appreciated the long stretch of exposed thigh with her legs crossed, a hint that it wouldn’t take much to be spread open. On a normal day I might have seen her bite her lip as my eyes trailed slowly down her body.
But on that day all I could see was red—pulsing, throbbing, violent red.
"I need to see Mr Peterson," I growled, my voice shaking like the floor during an earthquake.
The receptionist eyed the phone. "I'm sorry, sir, but Mr Peter—"
I snatched the phone, ripping the cord from the wall when she reached a manicured hand for it. On a normal day I might have paused to imagine what it would feel like to have them raking down my chest. But in that moment I only had time for blinding rage. I leaned over the desk and hissed through clenched teeth, "Mr O'Sullivan for Mr Peterson."
The mention of my name immediately changed the demeanour of the receptionist.
"Mr O'Sullivan," she said with a bent head and flushing cheeks. "Sir, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't recognise you because of the…"
Her eyes darted up to assess my dishevelled, dirty appearance. My hands balled up into tight, painful fists as my nails dug deep into my palms. "I need to see Mr Peterson right—"
"What's going on up here?"
I looked up to see Harry Peterson, the president of Levi, Levi, & Burke, enter the lobby with a pair of burly security guards on either side of him. They each reached for the weapons at their hip at the mere sight of me. I wasn't sure if it was the rumpled clothes or the waves of hot anger flooding off of me that sent the message that I was dangerous.
"Good lord," Harry sucked in a startled breath, "Michael, what—"
I stepped back from the desk and laughed darkly, sweeping my hands over the wreckage of my clothes.
"Oh, what happened to me? Is that what you want to know? Is that it?"
Harry took a step forward, only to retreat back to the safety of the security guards and their weapons when I slammed a fist onto the marble reception desk and barked in hysterical laughter.
"Story time then!"
I was out of my mind with anger as I stalked back and forth across the marble lobby floors with sloped shoulders and bright eyes like some kind of caged panther.
"How about we start with the fact that no one in this feckin’ city understands a single word I say?" I said, hands flying wildly into the air. "How about we start with the fact that I say, quite clearly I might add, 'Levi, Levi & Burke', and the taxi driver nods? 'Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I'll drive you there.'"
Harry and the receptionist exchanged concerned glances as I stomped back and forth.
"Michael, how about we go back to my office?" Harry suggested. "Kim here can get you a tea. Or a whiskey? How about a—"
Kim, the receptionist, moved to stand and stopped frozen halfway between sitting and standing when I launched back into my tale.
"Isn't it so fun, so much fecking fun when you expect to be taken promptly to a nice office building in a metropolitan city, such as this bleedin’ one," again my arms waved wildly, "but instead you're driven up into the mountains onto some nowhere, godforsaken highway?"
Kim's eyes looked pleadingly at Harry across the lobby, like she'd been thrown into a cage with a hungry lion and was begging for help, any help.
"So should I—" her voice nearly quivered, "should I go get the whiskey or…?"
I was dragging my fingers through my hair as I stared up at the ceiling with another burst of angry laughter.
"Don't you just love it when
