"Mom?!" a shout comes from somewhere within the house. Footsteps, someone walking down stairs—thump, thump, thump. "Hey, Mom! There's a weird-ass car in our driveway! No kick, no kick. Mom?!" Thump, thump—off the stairs now, hardwood floorboards creaking. And a girl, who can't be more than seventeen years old, brushes into the kitchen with a two year old boy squirming on her hip. "Hey, Mom, there's a—" Socked feet skidding to a stop, the girl sees us then.

"Look who came to visit," Aubrey says, placing a full, steaming coffee mug in front of me and Dax. The conversation we just had? Didn't happen. She's the sunshine beam again—smiling wide, eyes bright.

And Dax, who resembles a puddle more than a human at the moment, slumps against the bar and waves his hand. "Hey, Leah."

It takes a second for Leah to recognize him. The two year old lets out a bray of nonsense words in her ear. His tiny fists cling and pull at her baggy pajama top. Absentmindedly, she shoves his hand away. "Oh... hey, David." She hoists the boy a little higher and looks at me.

"These are David's friends." Aubrey doesn't look at Trip as she sets his coffee out for him and gestures at us both. "This is Evette and Trip. They're all going to stay a little while for a nice visit. Isn't that cool?" Slippers scuffing, she makes her way over to the fridge—slyly watching Leah, trying to judge her reaction.

Her daughter is staring at me, blankly.

"Hi." I try my best to smile, even though my heart is galloping. How many trembling spoonfuls of sugar have I dumped into my coffee? I don't even know. My eyes keep zipping back and forth between the girl and the toddler, mind racing, stomach churning. A very strong urge to tip Dax's stool over is starting to rise up in me.

Finally, one side of Leah's nose scrunches up. "What happened to your face?"

"Leah!" Aubrey chides.

"What? I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just asking. It's not like she doesn't know about it. It's on her face."

With a carton of eggs in one hand and a package of bacon in the other, Aubrey shakes her head at me. "I am so sorry—"

"It's okay." I raise my palm. And off the top of my head, I add, "I was mugged."

Leah winces. "That must have sucked." Her eyes shift.

I hadn't noticed. Trip is beside me now, crooking his fingers around the handle of his coffee. Holding my breath, I lift my eyes, expecting to see a ring of hell fire raging around him, lava spewing out of his mouth. But, instead, I find his gaze solid as ice. Expression, stone-cold, void of emotion. He doesn't look at the toddler. He doesn't look at anyone—except me. Chillingly, his eyes touch on mine, and in that short instant I silently beg the ice-devil not to crack.

Please, Trip, don't do anything insane.

He turns and goes back to the window. Oh God, he is pissed.

Aubrey switches on one of the gas burners of her stove. "Is your father up, Leah?"

I let out a slow breath and spoon even more sugar into my coffee.

"Yeah. Mom..." Leah looks like she's just been slapped. Dazed, eyes focused on nothing, mouth dangling open. Slowly, she lowers the boy—who is kicking now—to the floor. And with a slight shake of her head, she snaps out of it. Her hand flies to her matted hair. She blinks rapidly at her mother. "Why didn't you tell me we were going to have company over?"

"I didn't know. David wanted to surprise—"

Before Aubrey can breathe another word, Leah spins around. "I'll go tell Dad." Socks slipping once on the hardwood, she rushes out of the kitchen and runs straight into the tall, thin man who has just rounded the corner.

"Oohf." He stumbles back a step and catches her shoulders. "Tell me what?"

"David's here." And Leah darts around him, disappearing through the archway, thumpthumpthumpthumpthump, pounding up the stairs.

Looking a little dazed himself, the man stares after her, takes a couple of steps into the kitchen. Eyebrows raised, he whips his head around to look at Aubrey, then his guests. "Well, good morning to all."

"Hey, Malcolm," Dax mumbles.

"This is a surprise. What brings you to this side of the Bay, David?"

Aubrey's eyes flit away from the bacon she's frying. "He came to visit with his friends."

Malcolm's eyebrows climb higher up his forehead. He turns to Aubrey, and the two exchange a few looks—a silent conversation. He clears his throat, she shrugs, and finally Malcolm says, "Oh. I see." He comes forward, fastening his robe. "Hacking into Government websites again, Mister Dax? As funny as Harry McBallsack was, I thought you learned your lesson the first time."

"I'm just, you know, visiting."

"Riiight." Malcolm looks at me. "And who do we have here? You don't look like much of a computer nerd. If you met this guy online, you know he's probably been spying on all your e-mails, just saying." Despite the stress raking my brain, I find myself genuinely smiling. "Malcolm," he says, holding his hand out over the bar.

I shake it. "Evette."

He doesn't let go of my hand right away. He tilts his head, looking over my cheek.

"I was mugged," I say.

"Right. Well, whoever it was did a number on you. I hope you got a good lick in."

"I kicked him with my heel."

"Good." He turns to Trip, offering his hand. "And you are?"

For what feels like a full minute Malcolm's hand hovers there, empty, and only silence comes from behind me, stretching excruciatingly long. Splaying a hand over my forehead, I turn to look at Trip. He's completely ignoring the man. He won't even look at him.

Cringing, I sigh and turn back to Malcolm. "Trip is being anti-social. Don't take it personal. He hasn't finished his coffee yet."

Malcolm's fingers close, awkwardly, and he lowers his hand. "Right. Understandable," he says. But judging by the way his gaze flickers uncertainly over Trip, he doesn't buy it. He ambles towards his wife, who has been looking on the scene with unease. "Looks like we've got a full house this morning, dear."

She attempts to smile, but it's hard to do while she and her husband exchange another look. This one is more serious than the last. "They're going to be staying a little while," Aubrey says, "for a nice visit."

"Oh, really?"

The squawk that comes from behind me almost makes me spit up the overly sweet coffee I am slurping. Dax and I twist around, and my eyes set on the toddler holding on to my stool with one hand. Other hand stuck in his mouth. Big green eyes stare up at us with the curiosity only a two year old can possess. And despite the fact I didn't know this kid even existed until minutes ago, he draws a light laugh out of me.

"He scared me," I say, glancing at Dax.

Probably glad I'm actually speaking to him, Dax smiles a little. "His name is Noah." He leans down, and the boy gawks up at him. "Hey, remember me, little guy? Can you say Dax?"

The boy stares.

"Dax?"

Nothing.

"Daaa-x?"

"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.