On Second Thought(92)

“What happened to them?” Ainsley asked.

I frowned. “I don’t know. I thought you had them.”

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”

We both sat in silence, thinking the same thing. Of course our father didn’t know. He couldn’t find the butter without help. That left my mother, and it was totally in her character to toss the photos from her husband’s other wife, other life.

Ainsley looked away. “I guess if Candy threw them out, I... I don’t know. She’d have her reasons.”

“No, she wouldn’t. She’d find some way to justify it, but she’d only do it because she was so jealous. Your mother was lovely, and it drove my mom crazy.”

Ainsley’s eyes widened. That’s right. I’d done it; jumped the breach and said what was true. Because Ainsley had been so wonderful these past horrible weeks. She didn’t just say words; she came through, damn it. I took another sip of my drink, enjoying the buzz and the honesty it seemed to bring out. “I don’t blame Dad for leaving.”

“Don’t say that,” Ainsley said. “He cheated on Candy. That wasn’t right. And she took him back—and took me in. That was superhuman.”

“She could’ve done better by you, Ainsley.”

“She did well enough. I mean, she doesn’t hate me. And I don’t hate her.” She paused. “I kind of love her.”

“I loved your mom, too. And I love you, too. Even if you are Dad’s favorite.”

We looked at each other for a second, then laughed. “No more booze for you,” Ainsley said. “Look at you, getting all sappy.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “I love you, too.”

“Believe me, I can tell.” I was a little buzzed, but I meant it. Why were we just doing this now? Why hadn’t we always been close?

Because you couldn’t be bothered, that’s why. Because you and Sean liked to act superior with Ainsley. Because you were always jealous of her.

I’d do better now.

“Hey, did you hear?” I asked. “Mom and Dad are getting a divorce.”

“Not this again.”

“She wants to come live with us.”

“God, no. I mean, not that I get a say, but...”

“Don’t worry. I already turned her down.” My drink was gone. “Have you heard from Eric?”

She closed her eyes. “He keeps emailing me to fact-check his cancer journey. And his parents are starting to turn. Judy said she was proud of him the last time we talked.”

“She once told me he was regarded as the Christ child when he was born.”

“That sounds about right.” Her smile was a little sad.

“You know what we should do? Let’s go to his house. Your house. He’s in Alaska now, right?”

“Um...I think so. He started another blog, but I’ve been superstrong and haven’t read it.”

“Come on,” I said, pulling out my wallet to pay for dinner. “Let’s spy. It’ll be fun.”

Forty-five minutes later, there we were, sitting two houses down from her place. The house was dark.

“Let’s go inside,” I said. “We can take a few things that are rightfully yours.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Look at you. Little Miss Perfect, committing a crime.”

“You still have a key, don’t you?”

“Hell’s yes, I do.”

It was awfully dark (which was good, since we were breaking and entering). I followed her up the walk. She peeked in the garage. “No car,” she reported.

A second later, we were inside. “Don’t turn on any lights,” Ainsley said. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”

“Won’t the car parked on the street tip them off?”

“Oh, shit, yes,” she said, giggling. “Then again, who doesn’t drive a white Prius? It’s like Wonder Woman’s jet. Practically invisible.” She turned on the flashlight on her phone and shone it around. “I guess he hasn’t left yet.” There were piles in the living room—backpacks and hiking boots and climbing gear. “Look at all this crap. And from a guy who was never allowed to climb a tree in case he broke a bone.”

“Think he’s home? Maybe he sold the car. Maybe he’s asleep upstairs, right now,” I whispered. This made us laugh uncontrollably for some reason.

“Let’s put his hand in a bowl of water and see if he wets the bed,” Ainsley suggested, and I laughed so hard I had to go to the bathroom. Went into the little powder room and peed. Opted not to flush. Let him wonder.

When I came out, Ainsley was standing there. “He’s not home,” she said. “I checked. Come on, let’s get some of my stuff.” She looked around, the light from the bathroom illuminating the rooms. “I loved this house,” she said, her voice a little forlorn.

“It always felt so happy here,” I said, meaning it.

“When he kicked me out, I never thought he meant it.” Her mouth wobbled.

This was the first time she’d really talked about her breakup, and I didn’t know what to tell her. I was hardly a relationship expert, was I?

“Take that pillow,” I said, pointing to the couch. The pillow said love you in pink letters, such an Ainsley kind of thing. “And this little flower vase. It’s very pretty.”