Chapter 9: Whose Baby

Vincent drove himself.

He pulled away from my uncle's house with both hands on the wheel.

He didn't speak until we were on the bridge.

"I'll tell you now."

"No."

His eyes flicked to me.

"You said after dinner."

"I said I'd hear it. I didn't say I'd believe it."

I held the jar in my lap, with the cap digging into my palm.

"You've lied to my face every morning for two years.

"Now you want me to take your word against the man who raised me."

"What do you want, then?"

"Proof. Somebody who isn't you."

The wipers scraped once across the dry glass, because he'd hit them by mistake.

He turned them off.

"Who?"

"Serena," I said. "You told me her baby was yours to protect. Take me to her. Now."

He said nothing for three exits.

Then he put on the signal, took the ramp, and drove to Serena's building without another word.

I watched his profile in the passing lights.

The scar over his eyebrow caught each one.

I had kissed that scar on our wedding night.

He had told me a man in a bar gave it to him when he was nineteen, and I'd believed every word.

Now I wanted to put my thumb on it and press until he said something true.

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