If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(68)

“Hmph.” Mom huffed. “You’ve never listened to me.”

“And aren’t I the last person you want as your role model?” Erin said it with a smile as she tweaked Mom’s nose, catching Mom by surprise. I might’ve laughed if I didn’t envy her carefree attitude about my mother’s viewpoints. She opened the front passenger door for our mom and then slid into the back seat.

As the ignition turned over, I said, “Mom, I know it’s been a trying day, and I’m sorry to add to it, but I’m filing for divorce.”

“Oh, honey. I suppose it’s time.” Mom made the sign of the cross. “We’d better get our stories straight.”

“What story?” I asked.

“You certainly won’t advertise the affair and theft. Blame everything on irreconcilable differences.” She clucked to herself. “Even with that, Becky Morton and Dodo will be all over me with questions.”

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“It’ll be worse if you get busted lying,” Erin scoffed.

Mom twisted in her seat to face Erin. “It’s called discretion. Besides, Lyle’s gone, so Amanda can control the narrative. It’s better for all of us that way, especially her. It’ll be much easier to move forward with Willa if she doesn’t have to deal with snickers and pity.”

Maybe. Or maybe keeping secrets would increase my stress. Either way, I hated being talked about as if I weren’t present.

“For all we know, Ebba has friends who know the truth. Secrets never stay hidden forever. Just tell the damn truth!” Erin said. “He’s an asshole, and people should know it.”

“Language!” Mom turned back around. I was surprised that the vicious glare she sent through the windshield didn’t crack it.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” I said.

My mother faced me. “Ignore your sister. You understand what I’m saying.”

“Wouldn’t a judge be more inclined to penalize Lyle for the affair with higher alimony and child support?” I mused.

“Judges don’t care about that,” Mom huffed. “And you can’t trust Lyle to abide by a divorce decree, anyway. The only hammer you have is the ability to keep him out of jail. Anything you don’t get from him when we present our bargain will be lost. Accept that and move forward.”

Every time I caught my breath, she knocked the wind out of me again by filling me with doubt. The worst part was that, in addition to ending our marriage, Lyle might actually be destroying the lifelong relationship I’d always considered secure.

“Okay, Mom, let’s walk it back a bit. Filing for divorce is a big enough step for now.” Erin squeezed my shoulder. “We should celebrate. Let’s make something fun for dinner, like mac and cheese with bacon—or french toast.”

I put the car in reverse, not feeling the least bit celebratory about my divorce or future. I needed time alone to think through everything I’d learned and to speak with Kevin. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to prepare for parent conferences.”

“They’re three years old. How hard can that be?” Erin asked, then shifted to a prim voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, little Johnny is the top finger painter in our class. And he counts to twenty without resorting to using his toes. His potty training is by far the best we’ve seen all year.”

“Ha ha.” Some people see me as a glorified babysitter. Never mind my early childhood development and education background. Or the creativity and flexibility I demonstrate to keep children that age engaged in learning and reading. Or the communication skills I possess to be able to converse well with kids that young and their parents.

Sometimes I wondered if anything I’d ever worked hard at in this life mattered to anyone but me. Lyle had convinced me that he appreciated my devotion and enthusiasm. It had been the greatest gift I’d ever received—but it had also been a lie.

The effort I put out for others rarely returned in equal measure—except with the children. They loved me. I hoped my daughter would, too.

“Erin, don’t tease your sister. When you have kids, you’ll want someone like her taking them seriously.” My mom reached across the seat and patted my thigh, marginally lifting my spirits.

“I’m only kidding.” Erin rolled her eyes, thinking we couldn’t see her, but I caught it in the rearview mirror. “So, Mom, when will we get the results from your tests?”

In a blink, the giant tangle of questions about my future got swept off the table. Perhaps I should be grateful for the break, but what I most needed was a hug.

“We won’t get anything. I’ll hear something within the week.”

“That’s fast!” Erin sat forward, chin on the back of the seat like a dog. “What’d they make you do?”

“Please, Erin. I just answered a thousand questions for the doctor, and now your sister’s getting divorced. My head hurts.” Mom opened her purse and pulled out a bottle of Advil.

My head hurt, too—not that they cared.

Erin raised her hands in surrender, rolling her eyes again as she slid back onto her seat. At this rate, their living arrangement wouldn’t last very long. The mountain of problems I had to manage was grinding me down.

Muscle memory had me navigating around the potholes and slowing for the speed bumps in the old neighborhood while my mind wandered. The Uptons had changed out some old boxwoods for hydrangea. Little ranches and cottages dotted the streets, and most of the houses needed fresh paint or new roofs, or both. But today these homes seemed well loved. Well lived. The lack of uniformity gave the neighborhood personality, and I could no longer remember why I’d wanted to leave it all behind.