The Duplicate

Chapter Twenty-nine

"Ass." Noah reaches up and smears a slobbery finger on Dax's lens.

My smile widens as Dax clears his throat and takes his glasses off, cleaning them with his shirt. He looks at me. "I guess that's close enough."

"I think so."

Moving on, wobbling on tiny legs, Noah skirts around my stool. And as if he puts every fiber of his little body into it, he clenches his fists and gives another loud, happy shriek. Straight at Trip's back.

Trip doesn't move. He only drops his eyes to the side, listening to the pitter-patter of Noah's bare feet, and with rising anxiety, I watch Noah totter towards the ice-devil. Totally unaware of the danger. An image of Larry being smacked in the nose flashes in my mind, and my heart begins to slam against my chest. Trip wouldn't hit a child, would he? My whole body tenses at the thought.

Arms out, Noah goes for the sheer curtain beside Trip. His grimy fingers take hold of the fabric, shake it this way and that, stretch it out wide. He tilts his head way back to look up at Trip with a big, open-mouthed grin. At first, Trip refuses to look at him, trying to ignore the squeals and strings of nonsense. But, as Noah's unsteady little legs inch him closer and closer, Trip's cold eyes flash down. Slipping over the toddler's tiny frame, gliding over his chubby face—but not for long.

Abruptly, Trip turns away and walks along the wall to the other side of the room, to one of the doors with the view of the Bay. I can breathe again. And when I turn back to face the kitchen, Aubrey's attention snaps back to her cooking.

"Need any help, Mom?" Leah pops back in through the archway, changed in clothes, hair freshly brushed. She skips up behind Aubrey and peeks over her shoulder at the bacon.

Her mother looks at her strangely.

"Did you put make-up on?" Malcolm asks, pausing halfway through pouring his coffee to blink at her.

"Huh?" Leah acts like she doesn't know what he's talking about—even though I can see the gobs of mascara coating her eyelashes from here. She turns back to Aubrey. "Need me to do something? Like, I can set the table."

Cling, cling, cling—Noah has started to yank on the curtain, about ripping it off of its metal rod.

"Go stop your brother from destroying the house," Aubrey says, "how about that?"

"Sure thing." Leah springs around the bar and sweeps past Dax and me, flipping her hair over her shoulder, eyelashes flapping towards Trip's back across the room.

You've got to be kidding me.

She scoops Noah up. "No, no. Come on, dude. Let go of the curtain, Noah. Let go of the curtain. Let go. Let go." As he grunts and kicks his legs, she grunts and struggles to pry his fingers from the curtain.

"O! O! O!" Noah screams.

"Curtains aren't toys." She unlatches his grip, and the second she does Noah's face twists into anguish. Like the whole world is being taken from him, his body goes limp. Out of his lungs comes a earsplitting wail. Leah huffs and starts to lug him around the bar while Aubrey shakes her head.

"Oh, Noah, honey," she coos. "You can't rip Mommy's curtains."

Red-faced, tears tumbling off his cheeks, Noah fills his lungs again and lets out another choking howl.

And a crack—glass, smashing, breaking, shattering—cuts through all the noise, slices though everyone's thoughts. Everyone flinches. Aubrey cries out, hand flying to her mouth. I jerk around in my stool. And instantly my gaze fixes on Trip.

His back is still to the room.

The shards of his mug are scattered over the floor beside him.

Coffee is splashed over the wood.

No one speaks. No one moves. Maybe we're all trying to believe what just happened. Even Noah has quit his wailing, surprised by the sound. The room is frozen, all eyes are on Trip. Everyone is aware of the tension vibrating the whole house.

I knew it was a bad idea to bring him here.

What next? Flip over the table? Trash the place? Execute this entire family?

No.

Trip only steps away from the window and starts out of the room. Eyes dead. Passing through the kitchen, causing Leah to stumble away and the whole party to tense in fear. Malcolm's face is pale. Aubrey's dumbstruck gaze follows him, her hand at her heart.

And without a word, he walks out, disappearing through the archway. I listen to his footsteps down the hall. And I close my eyes as the slam of the front door thunders through the house.

Eons pass.

The world is set on pause.

It's Malcolm who finally mutters, "I guess the coffee wasn't strong enough."

But no one laughs.