Public Secrets

first.”
“Right.” And that would help, he thought. Her hair was dark and sleek, but her eyes were brown instead of green. After a couple of lines it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would. He went to a table and, unlocking a drawer, took out a small white vial. “Party time.”
The brunette clapped her hands. Hips swinging, she walked to the glass coffee table and knelt.
Appalled, Emma watched her father set up the cocaine. Straws, mirrors, the razor blade. His movements were competent, practiced. His head bent close to the brunette’s.
“Ah.” The French woman leaned back, eyes brilliant. She dipped a fingertip into the dust on the mirror then rubbed it over her gums. “Delicious.”
Brian hooked a finger in her sarong, drew her to him. He felt incredible. Young, powerful, invincible. He was hard and ready and full of needs. He bent her back, intending to take her quickly the first time. After all, he’d paid for all night.
“Da.”
His head whipped up. He focused, but it seemed like a dream. His daughter, with shadows at her back, her face pale, her eyes dark and wet, her hair streaming over her shoulders. “Emma?”
“Emma?” The French woman purred the name. “Who is this Emma?” Annoyed that Brian’s attention had shifted, she twisted around. There was speculation, then interest. “So, you like children, too. ça va . Come then, pretty one. Join the party.”
“Shut up, goddamn you. She’s my daughter.” He struggled up. “Emma … I thought you were in bed.”
“Yes.” Her voice was flat. “I know.”
“You shouldn’t be down here.” He stepped forward to take her arm. “You’re cold. And wet,” he said, fighting the sharp-edged buzz of the coke. “Where have you been?”

“I went down to the beach.” Avoiding his eyes she tried to turn toward the stairs.
“Alone? You went down to the beach alone? At night?”
“Yes.” She whirled back to him, gritting her teeth at the scent of the French woman’s perfume. “I went down to the beach alone. Now I’m going to bed.”
“You know better.” He took both her arms now, shaking her. “You know you’re not to go anywhere without the guards. For Christ’s sake you’ve been swimming. What if you’d had a cramp?”
“Then I’d have drowned.”
“Come, chéri , let the child go to bed.” The brunette prepared another line. “This is a party.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he shouted at her. She only shrugged and snorted. “Don’t you ever do this again,” he demanded, turning back to Emma. “Do you understand?”
“Oh yes. I understand.” She jerked away from him, eyes dark and dry. “I wish to God I didn’t, but I understand.”
“We’ll talk about this later.”
“About my walk on the beach, or about this?” She gestured toward the woman still kneeling at the table.
“This is none of your business.”
“No.” Her lips curved, but her voice was flat and dull. “No, you’re quite right about that. I’ll just go to bed then and leave you with your whore and your drugs.”
He slapped her. His arm swung up before he knew it would. His hand whipped across her face before he could stop it. He saw the mark of it on her cheek, the red flag of violence he so detested. Stunned, he looked down at his own hand … and saw his father’s.
“Emma—”
She stepped back in a quick, jerky motion, shaking her head. Rarely had he ever raised his voice to her, and now, the first time she questioned him, the first time she criticized, he struck her. Turning, she bolted up the stairs.
Johnno let her pass. He stood, halfway down, shirtless, cotton sweatpants low on his hips. His hair was disheveled, his eyes tired. “Let me talk to her,” he said before Brian could rush by. He took a strong grip on his friend’s arm. “She won’t hear you now, Bri. Let me hold her hand for a while.”

He nodded. His palm stung where it had connected with her face. His baby’s face. “Johnno—I’ll make it up to her.”
“Sure.” Johnno squeezed his shoulder, then gestured. “You’d best tidy up your mess down here.”
Her eyes were dry. Emma sat, heedless of her wet clothes, on the edge of her bed. But she didn’t cry. The world, the beautiful world she had built around her father had crumbled. She was lost again.
She bolted up when the door opened, then sank back to the bed when she saw Johnno. “I’m all right,” she told him. “I don’t need anyone to kiss it and make it better.”
“Okay.” He came in nonetheless, and sat