Antitype by M. D. Waters Read Free Book Online

main hall. I try shaking loose of the men, but they don’t trust me to leave quietly. Not that I plan to. I drag my feet and jerk at random, hoping to trick one of them into letting me go.
    We pass the corridor leading to where I’d been with Hannah. Violet and Andrea are walking inside with a slender, aged woman in a shapeless black-and-white dress. They’re desperately innocent at five and seven. They have the same blond mother but so closely resemble our father it’s scary. They have long, straight brown hair and Dad’s slender, pointed nose. They even share the same amber-colored eyes, the only feature Gabe and I took away from that half of our bloodline.
    Andrea runs forward, calling my name, but Violet stops altogether and plops a thumb in her mouth. Her free hand clings to the long skirt of the woman beside her.
    I glare at the man to my right, then left. “Let me just say good-bye to them and I’ll leave.”
    I’m freed in time to kneel and catch Andrea, whose smile puts a shine in her eyes. “You came! I told her you’d be here.”
    I smile, forcing back every negative emotion marching through my head. They don’t need to see how worried I am. “I can’t stay. Something came up, but I’ll be back next month.” To Violet, I say, “Come here, baby girl. Brother wants to see how much you’ve grown.”
    She hesitates but strolls forward, her gaze darting to the men hovering behind me.
    When both girls are in my arms, I kiss their cheeks and hold them to me in a tight hug. Violet begins crying seconds after.
    â€œDon’t cry,” I whisper. “Everything will be okay. Promise.”
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    Paintings hang on the wood walls of Dad’s personal study. More than half of the canvases depict very erect gods or voluptuous fertility goddesses. His mantels hold more of the same in the form of stone and bronze statues.
    But not all of his paintings are borderline pornographic, and the work of one particular artist happens to draw my attention every time. I’ve always loved his vision behind certain constellations and how he managed to show the stars while incorporating the story behind the constellation into the rendering.
    Dad looks up from where he sits angled in the corner of a dark leather couch, propped by striped pillows. He lays a tablet on the cushion beside him, and the way the letters are arranged on the screen, I deduce he’s reading today’s
Richmond Times.
    â€œNoah. I thought you were at the office.”
    I can usually blow by his automatic assumptions without a look back, but not today. He knows it’s visiting day at the WTC. I’d bet my company shares on it. “We need to talk about Hannah.”
    He pulls in a breath and bunches his lips, gaze falling to where his feet are propped on the coffee table. “If this is about Marco—”
    â€œThis has nothing to do with that unbelievably shortsighted decision and everything to do with her overall health.”
    His feet land with a muffled
thump
on the thick green carpet. “I’ve read her monthly evaluations. They say she’s perfectly suitable.”
    Why am I surprised he hears “health” as a synonym for “suitable”? A laugh bursts from my chest. “What the hell do you all believe is ‘suitable’? Is it the fact that she can still spread her thighs? This is your daughter, and she’s showing signs of a mental break.”
    His eyes widen in a way that tells me the lights have turned on. He leans forward. “Is this about her memory lapses?”
    I blink. “You knew?”
    He waves a hand. “It’s in her evaluations.”
    â€œAnd”—I shrug—“you aren’t concerned at all?”
    â€œShe’s just tired. I’m told a lot of the girls get nervous around this time, and she goes to show next month. Ridiculous that I have to put