Feast of Fools by Rachel Caine Page B

it?’’
    â€˜â€˜My dad,’’ Eve said. ‘‘He’s—he’s sick. He’s in the hospital. They don’t think—they don’t think he’s going to make it. It’s his liver.’’
    â€˜â€˜Oh,’’ Claire whispered, and leaned across the table to take Eve’s right hand. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
    Eve’s fingers were cool and limp. ‘‘Yeah, well—he asked for it, you know? My dad was an ugly drunk, and he—me and Jason didn’t exactly have the greatest childhood.’’ She locked gazes with Shane. ‘‘You know.’’
    He nodded. He took her left hand and stared at the table. ‘‘Our dads were drinking buddies sometimes,’’ he said. ‘‘But Eve’s was worse. Lots worse.’’
    Claire, having met Shane’s dad, couldn’t really imagine that. ‘‘How long—?’’
    â€˜â€˜Jason said a couple of days, maybe. Not long.’’ Eve’s eyes filled with tears that didn’t fall. ‘‘Son of a bitch. What does he expect from me, anyway? To come running and sit there and watch him die?’’
    Shane didn’t answer. He didn’t lift his head. He just . . . sat. Claire had no idea what to do, how to act, so she followed his example. Eve’s hands suddenly closed on theirs, hard.
    â€˜â€˜He threw me out,’’ she said. ‘‘He told me that if I didn’t let Brandon fang me, I couldn’t be his daughter. Well, so he’s dying, boohoo. I don’t care.’’
    Yes, you do, Claire wanted to say, but she couldn’t. Eve was trying to convince herself, that was all, and in about thirty seconds she shook her head, and the tears broke free to run in dirty streaks down her pale face.
    â€˜â€˜I’ll take you,’’ Shane said quietly. ‘‘That way, you don’t have to stay unless you want to.’’
    Eve nodded. She couldn’t seem to get her breath. ‘‘I wish—Michael—’’
    Claire remembered, with a shock, that they were still waiting for Sam’s call. ‘‘I’ll stay,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ll call you when I hear from Sam. I’ll get Michael to come there, okay?’’
    â€˜â€˜Okay,’’ Eve said weakly. ‘‘I—need my purse, I guess.’’
    She swiped at her eyes and walked into the other room. Shane looked at Claire, and she wondered what all this was bringing up for him—memories of his father, of his dead mother and sister, of a family he didn’t really even have anymore.
    You’re a deep, dark mystery, she’d said to him, and now, more than ever, that was true.
    â€˜â€˜Take care of her,’’ Claire said. ‘‘Call me if you need anything.’’
    He kissed her on the lips, and in a few minutes she heard the front door bang shut. Locks clicked. Claire sat by the phone and waited.
    She’d rarely felt so alone.
    The phone rang after ten minutes. ‘‘He’s coming home,’’ Sam said, and hung up. No explanation.
    Claire gritted her teeth and settled in to wait.
    It took another twenty minutes for Michael’s car to pull into the driveway. He crossed the short distance from garage to back door in a few fast strides, covering his head with a black umbrella he left by the steps. Even then, when he entered the kitchen, Claire smelled a faint burned reek coming from him, and he was shivering.
    His eyes looked hollow and exhausted.
    â€˜â€˜Michael? You okay?’’
    â€˜â€˜Fine,’’ he said. ‘‘I need to rest, that’s all.’’
    â€˜â€˜I—where were you? What happened?’’
    â€˜â€˜I was with Amelie.’’ He scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘‘Look, there’s a lot going on. I should have left a note for you guys.