Taking a deep breath, she slid a knife under the flap and opened it.
Chapter Thirty
Kiersten
Kiersten wiped the sweat from her brow as she finished unpacking one of the last boxes in the basement. She’d made excellent progress today, and now it was time for her reward.
She made a cup of coffee, grabbed a Milano cookie from her secret stash, and sat down with Dottie’s diary.
The diary felt a little bit like a soap opera. Or a series on Netflix. It took enormous self-discipline not to binge all the entries at once. But she resisted this impulse, forcing herself to read slowly and carefully, absorbing all the little details that might help her figure out who’d written them.
Each day she felt a little more anxious to learn the ending to Dottie’s story ... to find out if that ending was happy.
Or not.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dottie
May 5, 1965
Dickie returned home last night after work and pretended like nothing had happened. I was waiting at the door (barefoot) with a smile, a gin and tonic, and a Goddamn ribbon in my hair.
We ate dinner and then sat out on the back porch together. He asked me how I’m feeling. I asked if he had a nice day. He then proceeded with a long monologue about everyone in the office, complete with belittling nicknames for people I know to be smart, capable, and kind, including my father, who he now calls Gerald the Magnificent in a sneering voice.
He also said I can earn my shoes back if I live by his rules and demonstrate that I can be a perfect wife for the next two weeks. He said I’m off to an excellent start.
So by God, I will. And then I will put on those shoes, walk out the door, and never come back.
I thought about calling Daddy, but he’s down at the house in Florida for the next few months and we’re all on a party line here on Beaverbrook Lane. Half the neighborhood listens in. You can always tell from the subtle clicking sound in the background in the middle of a conversation.
So if I tell Daddy what’s going on while he’s down in Florida, everyone will know.
Or I could walk out of the house right now, barefoot, and ask the lady next door for help. But honestly, I’m not sure she’d believe me. Everyone loves Dickie. Handsome, charming Dickie. And even if she did believe me, he’s still the father of my child. I don’t want to destroy his reputation. I just don’t want to be married to him anymore.
So I’ll bide my time and earn back my damn shoes. Then I’ll leave quietly and head down to Daddy in Florida. I’ll have the baby there and return home after Daddy fires Dickie and sends him packing. Being a divorced single mother will cause a scandal, and it won’t be easy, but anything is easier than living like this.
May 12, 1965
Dickie says I’m continuing to make excellent progress. It took all the self-control I had not to spit in his eye.
He likes an elaborate dessert with the evening meal every night. And he gets really angry if I make the same meal two nights in a row, but he also has me on a tight budget. He’s arranged to have the groceriesdelivered and he doesn’t give me much to work with, because he’s so damn stingy.
So I’ve found ways to create entirely new meals using leftovers from the night before, including dessert. A Bundt cake on Monday becomes strawberry shortcake on Tuesday and a trifle on Wednesday. Mashed potatoes on Wednesday become potato croquettes on Thursday. Pot roast on Thursday becomes pulled pork BBQ sandwiches on Friday. It’s kind of like a mechanical problem. I take the inputs I’m given and then I combine the components to build something completely new the next day.
One more week until I have my shoes. And my freedom.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Piper
Piper’s hand flew to her mouth as she bit back a scream. Her toes curled in her shoes as a wriggling, writhing mass of live worms undulated inside the box.
Piper jumped back from the counter as the girls trooped into the kitchen.
“Mom. Are you okay?” Caitlin asked, peering at her mom.
“Did you cut yourself on the mandolin again?” Olivia asked.
