And then I saw Pat, standing not too far away, and in front of her a woman, tall and striking and dressed like she had stepped out of a magazine, her voice sharp and venomous as she spat words at Pat. Pat stood there with her shoulders squared and her face carefully blank, taking it, the way she always took it, the way she took everything.
I knew that face.
The recognition hit me like a physical blow, a cold wave that rolled up from the base of my spine and turned the world sharp and still. That face belonged to the branch of the family that had helped destroy my father. The same jaw, the same cold beautiful cruelty in the eyes, the daughter of the man who had once made my mother weep in the kitchen while my father stood at the window with his hands in his pockets, silent. I had not seen her in years, but I would have known her anywhere.
I did not think. I did not plan. I crossed the distance and my hand moved before my mind caught up, and the crack of the slap rang out across the parking lot, loud and clean. The woman's head snapped to the side, and she stumbled back a step, one hand flying to her cheek, her eyes wide with shock and then blazing with fury.
My voice came out low and shaking. "Get off this property before I have you dragged off it."
"This is not over." Her voice dropped to a hiss, her eyes moving from me to Pat. "This is definitely not over. Neither of you will get away with this."
She turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement, and I stood there with my hands shaking at my sides, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Pat reached for me and pulled me into her arms, and I let her hold me, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume, grounding myself in the warmth of her.


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