The Atonement (The Arrangement, #3)(4)

“Just…please, Mom. Just please fix them the same thing. Maisy can eat whatever the boys eat.” She pursed her lips, preparing for an argument, but I headed it off. “I know how you feel about food, but they’re my kids. And they haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, so please. Please. Just feed them breakfast and don’t talk to Maisy about her food choices.”

Her jaw snapped shut, and she placed the food on the countertop with extra force, muttering something that sounded like ungrateful under her breath as she turned away from me to dig in a drawer.

“I’m sorry.” I stepped forward, placing a hand on the granite island. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just tired. We’re all tired. It’s been a long night. I should be thanking you for letting us visit.”

When she turned back to me, there was a weariness in her eyes that matched my own. “You know you’re always welcome here, Ainsley. Any of you.”

“I know,” I told her, though it had only been moments ago that I’d doubted it.

She slammed the drawer shut, spatula in hand, before retrieving a skillet from the cabinet next to the stove. “Is everything okay? Really?”

I sighed, sliding onto the barstool across from her. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”

She placed the pan on the stove, then moved to the sink to wash her hands. “You know, you never were very good at lying to me.”

Oh, I know.

She seemed to read my thoughts, glaring at me over her shoulder. “It’s Peter, isn’t it? The two of you are having problems?” She shut off the water and turned back to me, drying her hands on a towel she’d pulled from a nearby drawer. She tutted. “Oh, I worried this would happen.”

I stared at her in disbelief, then shook my head. “We aren’t having issues. Peter and I are…fine.”

“Fine isn’t good.” Her brows rose defiantly. “I sensed it at the birthday dinner. Things were…off between the two of you. I said so to your father. Oh, he’ll just be devastated to hear this. It’s all his fault, isn’t it? I told him how bad it was for Peter to see him with his latest floozy. Men always think the grass is greener, don’t they?”

“Mom, stop! It’s not that. I swear, it isn’t. Peter and I are fine. We’re great. I swear.”

She pulled a bowl from a cabinet, opening the carton of eggs without looking at me. “Then why are you here when you have a perfectly good home thirty minutes from here? Why are you here when you’ve only brought those children into my home when I force you to?” She waved an egg in the air—midcrack—pointing toward the top floor. “You’re lying to me, Ainsley, and I want to know why.”

I placed my head in my hands, my shoulders drooping. What more could I say? What could I say to my mother or my children? What could I tell them?

For so long, all I’d wanted was a life without secrets and lies, and now, thanks to Peter, I’d found myself being the one doling them out the most. Who had he turned me into?

I inhaled deeply, working to keep my tone even. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” She didn’t miss a beat.

“Peter and I are…having problems.” Sweat beaded at my hairline, my entire body revolting against the truth. I hated myself for admitting it. I hated it for being true.

“An affair?” she asked. “Financial problems?”

“No. Nothing like that. Things have just gotten…stressful.”

“As they do.”

“And we agreed we needed some time apart.”

She cracked another egg, still listening.

“Which was why I took the kids to Florida. But then, he texted me and asked me to come back and talk to him.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t want the kids to know any of this.”

“Of course not,” she vowed.

“Dad either,” I added.

She paused, apparently deciding how to feel about that, before giving a small smile. “Of course, dear. I can certainly understand why you’d trust me more than your father with an issue like this. I’m happy to watch the kids while you and Peter work on whatever is going on.” She turned to the refrigerator, retrieving the spinach and transferring it to a strainer. “He’s one of the good ones, you know. You two will work it out.”

I nodded, feeling nauseous. “I’m… I’m going to check on the kids, okay?”

“Take your time. Freshen up. Breakfast will be ready when you are.”

I slid off of the barstool, making my way across the hardwood floor slowly. I hated being back in this house, but I couldn’t focus on that. Now that the kids were safe, I needed to move on to the next step in my plan.

It was time to find my husband.





CHAPTER THREE





AINSLEY





The shower did little to make me feel refreshed. Though my skin and hair were now free of sand and salt, I’d been unable to wash the disgust from my body so easily.

I was repulsed by myself in a way I didn’t know was possible.

As someone who’d always lacked the sort of self-love women write memoirs about, this was a new low, even for me. I hated whom Peter had turned me into. Hated how far I’d let myself fall. Not in the way my mother thought I’d let myself go. At that point, I couldn’t bring myself to care less about the wrinkles forming near my eyes or the extra weight the stress had added to my hips.