For a moment neither of us move. I’m vaguely aware of Maeve watching us, the customers staring, but all I see are Delia’s eyes, wide and unbelieving. A red welt blooms on her cheek, the shape of my palm on her skin.
My Godwhat did I do? I didn’t hither, did I? No one hits Delia. No one…“Dee—”
Her eyes blaze with hatred. I try again. “Delia, Jesus, I didn’t mean…”
Without a word, she gathers her skirts in her hands, turns on her heel, and disappears into the kitchen.
Oh fuck.“Delia—”
I don’t get to the door before it swings back at me and then Maeve is there, pushing past me into the kitchen.
“Delia, wait, I’m sorry…” But she’s already racing up the stairs.
I hear her bare feet on the wood, her ragged breath as she starts to cry. Maeve is right behind her cooing her name.
I hit her.