Over the Edge by Brandilyn Collins Page A

told her about Alicia. I said nothing about Stalking Man. That was too much for this conversation. And what if Maria didn't believe me either?
    Her gaze coasted toward the stairs. She licked her lips. I watched her struggle to absorb this new reality. "He's going to tell Lauren before he leaves?"
    "That's the plan."
    Maria made a sound in her throat. "Oh. How awful. That's going to be . . ."
    Yeah.
    I shifted my position. My head felt so heavy, as if my neck didn't want to hold it up. "Look, I hate to ask you for anything m-more, but I'm going to need help getting Lauren to school until I can find someone around here to take her. Trouble is, none of her friends in this . . . neighborhood go to her school. Maybe I can hire somebody—"
    "No, no, don't do that. Of course I'll help." Maria raked a hand through her hair. "I don't understand why Brock thinks you're faking. I mean, just 'cause you did that as a kid—"
    Two sets of girl feet pounded down the stairs. Maria's mouth clamped shut.
    "Mom, we want a snack!" Lauren and Katie made for the kitchen.
    "Go ahead."
    Dully, I watched the girls through the pass-through window. "We'll talk later," I whispered to Maria.
    She nodded.
    Ten minutes later, Maria and Katie prepared to leave. "I want you to call me tonight, tell me how you're doing." Maria firmed her lips in a non-smile.
    Don't leave. Don't. Because when they did, Brock would have to talk to Lauren. And the secure world I'd spent nine years building for my daughter would crumble.
    I pictured Stalking Man invading our home however long ago. Standing over my bed as I slept. At the thought of his coming back for Lauren, abject terror seized my throat. Somehow I would keep that fright to myself, not let it affect my daughter. But I couldn't shield her from her own father.
    My body started to shake. I slumped over on the couch, then lifted my feet up to lie down. In the kitchen I could see the edge of Lauren's right shoulder as she sat at the table. A schoolbook thumped down before her.
    Brock's footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor.
    My eyes closed. I needed to get up, be a part of their conversation. Hold Lauren's hand. But my muscles wouldn't move.
    Memories marched through my head. Brock after Lauren's birth, holding her for hours. Not even wanting to give her to me for feeding. His tea parties with five-year-old Lauren, both of them sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by an array of stuffed animals and a tiny tea set. I'd taken a picture once, the two of them tipping dainty cups to their lips, Brock's pinky extended to match his daughter's. Brock at the school play last year, insisting we sit on the front row so Lauren could see us during her performance.
    How could he leave her? How could he leave us?
    "Hey, Punkin." Brock's steps reached the kitchen.
    "Hi, Daddy!" Lauren's chair scraped against the floor. Eyes still closed, I heard the rustle of clothes and pictured them hugging. The chair scraped again as she returned to her seat.
    Fresh fear wound its way down my limbs. It curled and crept and stuck to my veins until I would burst with it. How was I going to do this? Where was I going to find the energy to take care of a crushed child?
    "Whatcha working on?" Brock asked.
    "Science."
    I had to get up. I needed to go to her. My muscles gathered for the attempt to rise.
    "Listen, Punkin."
    I sat up, heart skidding. Swung my feet to the floor. Vertigo hit. I closed my eyes, fighting for equilibrium. Whoa. It hadn't been this hard to get up when Maria and the girls arrived.
    "What?" Lauren's voice sounded so innocent, so unprepared.
    Silence from the kitchen. I fumbled for my cane, thrust myself toward the edge of the couch. My feet needed to center under me so I could get up. My left hand pushed against the cushion until I managed to stand. I started to move toward the kitchen.
    "What is it, Daddy?"
    I reached the armchair. Where he'd sat when he told me. That armchair would never look the same again. I