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“Did you have fun with Mommy?”
A tiny hesitation followed by another nod. I’m about to ask more, but the front door opens and Charlie springs off the couch.
Daddy’s home.
I’ve also sprung to my feet, so eager that I’m shaking. I want to grab his hand, drag him away.We have to talk, then I realize how different he looks. He’s dressed in a suit and tie. He picks up Charlie, hugs her tight. Everything about him is different, and it’s not just the clothes. Charlie giggles, squeals to get away. He lets her go and she runs back to the couch, and I study him, try to figure out what it is about his energy that is so striking, and then I get it.
He’s happy.
“What happened?” I ask.
He grins, lowers his head but still looking at me, he says, “I got a job.”
I’ve made sure Charlie is happily settled in front of the TV with her note-taking and a glass of orange juice. I’m sitting on the edge of our bed, one leg crossed over the other, hunched over, biting at my bottom lip. Jack loosens his tie. He’s grinning so hard it almost reaches his ears.
“You got a job on a Saturday?” I say, my heel bouncing against my shin. “Where?” And I’m literally thinking he’s going to say, at the gas station, or packing shelves at the grocery store, but instead he says,
“It’s a small firm, but they’re getting big contracts.” He crouches in front of me, takes my hands in his. “They’re the guys from the restaurant. They called me in yesterday and again this morning. I didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to raise our hopes up, but they’ve got a big project starting Monday, so they were pretty desperate. I’ve just been there all morning, we even had lunch.” He laughs. “They gave me the job, Laura!” He presses his lips together and wipes his forehead with his hand. “I just hope nothing goes wrong.”
“Oh Jack, honey.” I put my hand on his cheek. “That’s just fantastic news! I’m so happy for you!”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him. “Sorry. We can talk about that later. I need to show you something first.”
I take his hand, walk out to the attic trap door. “Bronwyn has gone to an open house nearby, she’ll be back any minute, so we have to be very quick. She cannot know we’ve been up there, okay?”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
It’s easier to open the trap door with two of us, and we manage to open it quietly. We walk up the step ladder, into the dusty space. I take his hand and slowly, quietly, guide him to the far end, past the antique wardrobe.
“There,” I say. I look at him as I point to the painting.
“What?”
“What do you mean, what?” I turn to the painting.
It’s not there. There’s nothing there. Nothing at all.
I search around the attic, but I know it’s useless. She’s moved it. She’s hidden it somewhere else. Does she know I’ve seen it? I don’t know, but the thought is making my chest throb with fear.
“It was there,” I say. “But you know that. You put it there, right?”
“I don’t know, Laura, I don’t remember what I did with it.”
“But you told me you put it in the attic!”
“Did I? I thought Bron took it away.”
“No! It was hanging in the living room when she left, remember?”
He nods gravely. “Yes, of course I remember.”
“And you put it in the attic!”
He nods again. “Yes, yes. I think I remember that.”
“You think? It was there, Jack.”
