Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 44

SALEM

Okay, I'll admit it—I didn't think Patton Rory had it in him to be nice. Like, not sincerely nice-nice. Not can-I-get-you-anything nice.

Not let-me-reassure-you-about-the-deal nice.

I mean, don't get me wrong. He's still a walking iceman with the smarmiest glint in his eye. But today, he's been decent.

Maybe one of his nicer brothers crawled inside his skin suit and this Patton is an imposter, or he's had a personality transplant.

At this point, it's more believable than seeing Patton Rory behave like a normal human being.

Especially when his mom was so weirdly sweet, way more than I expected.

I basically imagined her to be an older version of him. Stuck up, optimized for inhuman good looks, and ready to mow you down in an instant with a nasty comment or two.

But she was genuinely kind. Friendly and generous.

Delly Rory made us feel at home even though I had no right being in that big old house with a kid who can be a handful and a half.

It almost hurts to wonder if it's due to the natural bond, knowing she's his grandmother.

That still eats at me as I stand on top of the hill, watching as Arlo skids down to the bottom on his sled.

When he tumbles off it at the end and looks back at me for approval, I wave.

"Careful, dude! You have to hold on tight until it stops."

His face lights up as he runs back up to me, his boots sinking in the snow and the sled bouncing behind him as he pulls it by the rope.

Somewhere behind us, Patton waits in his car like the snow-allergic Scrooge he is. However nice he was earlier, he's gone back to being a turbo workaholic, if he isn't just avoiding us.

I seriously doubt he has emails to finish.

He's probably looking at his fat investment portfolio or streaming porn, waiting for us to hurry it up so he can drive us home. At this point, I'll be pleasantly surprised if he doesn't just call a cab.

Confusing.

At least when I hated him, I knew where we stood. But I'm breathing too fast, I realize.

And I plaster on a smile as Arlo returns to my side. A few new flakes of snow drift down on us, settling on his coppery curls and the tip of his nose.

"That was so cool!" he yells.

"Glad to hear it. We don't get this kind of snow enough so late in the season."

"Your turn, Mommy."

"You know what?" I pull off his hat and ruffle his hair aggressively. "Now we match!"

He howls, grabbing for his hat and pulling it down over his ears.

These are the little moments every mother lives for, I think, leaning back on the sled and looking at the iron-grey clouds above, still sending small flakes spiraling down.

Sitting next to Arlo, I point up. "Check out that cloud. Looks like a polar bear, I think."

"Mom, that's a rabbit." He gives me a look of disdain only a five-year- old cloud expert can manage.

"Really? Then where are the ears?"

"Right there, Mommy. Look!" He jabs his mitten at the sky. "Well, maybe if you squint really, really hard…"

He huffs impatiently. My smile fades.

Now, every time I look at him, I just see Patton's dark-brown hair— coppery in the sunlight—and the same sharp blue eyes all the Rory brothers inherited.

Does Grumpybutt himself ever notice the resemblance? I wonder.

If he has, I'm sure he's in denial.

Then again, it's almost worse if the idea never enters his head. What if he thinks I'm just some skank who sleeps around, and he was one more fling in a long line of blue-eyed boys that night on the boat?