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“Mom, you sound like Graham now. I know what Dad looks like. Looked like.”
I add the last bit with a hint of sadness, though my feelings about Dad will always be conflicted.
“I don’t understand,” she says. “Why would he have a photo of your dad?”
Mom isn’t looking at me as she speaks. She stares at the floor instead, avoiding my gaze.
“I think you know.”
She stands abruptly, shaking her head. “I need a glass of water.”
“Mom…”
I follow her into the kitchen. She stands at the sink, hand shaking as she pours the glass.
“I don’t know why he would have a photo of your dad. I don’tknow, okay?”
“What is it? Just the craziest coincidence ever?”
“Are yousureit was your dad?”
“Yes, Mom, I’m sure,” I yell, my voice way too loud, especially considering I’m hiding secrets of my own.
“Fix your tone, young lady,” Mom snaps. “I’ve given you my answer. I have no idea why he would have that photo. Are we clear? Are wedone?”
“No, not really. You haven’t tol—”
“Layla, enough.” She drops her glass heavily into the sink without taking a sip. “I. Don’t. Know. Okay? I’m going to work in my room. I have to focus.”
With that, she leaves, going into the living room and stomping up the stairs.
“You clearly know something,” I shout after her. I return to the living room. It’s like when I was a teenager, in the early years after Dad left, and Mom sometimes acted more like a sister or a friend than my mom. We’d get into petty arguments, and she’d throw tantrums, attempting to deal with her hectic new existence.
The front door opens, and Miles walks into the living room, stopping when he sees me. We haven’t spoken one-on-one since last night when wealmostdid it.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“It’s nothing,” I say, but then annoying-as-heck tears slide down my cheeks.
I try to fight them, but the argument and the confusion have me too pent-up, not to mention that Miles and I are in the same room, reminding me of last night. He rushes over, kneeling and pulling me into a hug. As I collapse against him, burying my face in the safety of his firm chest, I wonder what Mom or Noah would think of this if they caught us. Would they see a step-uncle comforting his niece, or would they know the truth?
“Tell me,” he says, softly stroking my hair.
For a moment, I wonder if he means the other thing I still haven’t told him—why last night was so difficult.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Miles
“I know it was him,” Layla says when she finishes explaining, “and from how Mom reacted, I knowsheknows something, too, but she and Graham are telling me I’m wrong.”
“I believe you,” I reply, my hand wrapped around hers warmly.
We can almost pretend we’re not listening for Elena to walk down the stairs or for Noah to pull up in the driveway.
“I know what Mom’s like,” she says. “Once she shuts down, that’s it. She won’t tell me anything.”
“It’s one hell of a coincidence if it is one.”
