It was an admission. She knew the truth. But Freya would fight us till the end. She was unhinged, suffering from postpartum depression, even psychosis. I had to get the baby away from her. She wasn’t safe.

The bell jingled as Freya stormed out of my store.

Chapter 63

63

low

Max returned to the house about an hour after the woman from CPS had left. He’d been windsurfing. Or kayaking . . . some watersport that had wet his dark hair with salt spray. He wore a tank top and board shorts. He looked like he’d just walked off some Hunks of Summer calendar, but I barely noticed.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his eyes scanning the rooms for his wife and her daughter, and finding only me, seated at the dining table. “Where is everyone?”

“A woman came,” I said, swallowing the dread that was clogging my throat, “from Child Protection. Freya thinks Jamie called her. I think she went to the store to confront her.”

Max’s face darkened. “Where’s the baby?”

“Asleep in her crib.”

He ran his hands through his damp hair, making his biceps bulge. “Should I go after her?”

“Yes!” I cried. “What if Freya does something to Jamie? Beats her up or something? She was so angry. . . .”

“She’d never attack Jamie.”

How could he be so confident when he knew, better than anyone, Freya’s violent side?

“She might smash up the store,” I said. “She could get arrested! CPS could take Maggie!”

A few weeks ago, this option might have suited me fine, but I’d grown to care for the little creature. I didn’t want to look after her 24-7, but I didn’t want her in the system. Hawking probably didn’t even have a system. They’d send Maggie to the city, where she’d get swallowed up by the foster care behemoth. She belonged with her father and Jamie.

“Shit . . . ,” Max muttered and moved toward the side table and his car keys.

But the sound of an SUV pulling up out front stopped him in his tracks. A car door slammed, and small feet crunched across the gravel toward the door. My heart thudded in my chest. Freya was back.

A gust of anger energy preceded her into the home. The confrontation had not diffused her rage. Had Jamie admitted to calling CPS? Or denied it? Which would add more fuel to Freya’s fire?

She spoke to Max first. “Child Protection Services was here.”

“Low told me.”

“Jamie swears she didn’t call them,” she said, tossing her keys on the table. “I believe her. She’s too bland to lie convincingly.”

“Then who called?” Max asked.

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter because we’re leaving. It was a mistake to move here in the first place, and now everything is totally fucked-up.”

“Where are we going?” Max said to her departing back as she moved to the kitchen.