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“Have fun on your trip.”
He stares at me.
Stares, the intensity uncomfortable and unwavering.
Then lets out a long breath and straightens. I know he’s leaving long before he turns toward the door.
But I’m not expecting him to glance back. I’m unprepared for the defeat on his face, like he had some fantasy of this conversation going differently.
“Camp was fine, and the rest of my summer sucked, in case you were wondering.”
I was.
I’ve spent all summer wondering how he was doing. What he was doing. Who he was doing it with.
But I don’t say so. Don’t react at all, as I watch the door shut behind him.
I just focus on deep, even breaths, barely registering the sting of my nails digging into the soft flesh of my palms.
Fighting the urge to follow him.
The twins are wrestling in the front yard when I pull into the driveway.
“Hi, Cassia!” Charlie calls.
“Hi, Cassia!” Chris echoes.
“Hey, guys!” I wave as I step out of the car. My brothers are already back to rough-housing.
The soccer camp that took up most of their summer just ended, so they’ve literally been bouncing off the walls waiting for school to start.
There’s a messy heap of shoes and sports equipment piled just inside the front door. I kick off my sneakers and sort through the mess, shoving everything back into its proper cubby based on who it belongs to.
Regan wanders into the entryway as I’m tossing shin pads into Charlie’s cubby, sucking on a red popsicle. The sharp smell of chlorine follows her, blown around by the air conditioning.
“Hey. Where’s Mom?”
Regan shrugs, continuing to slurp her popsicle. Her brown hair is wet, droplets of water dripping onto the tile floor.
“How was swim practice?”
“Fine. Maggie’s hogging the bathroom. She has a date with Silas later.”
I exhale. “Great.”
Regan is clearly waiting to shower and I’m sweaty and covered with dog hair.
I finish cleaning up in the entryway and then head into the kitchen. Sally is sitting at the kitchen table, her expression pinched with concentration as she alternates between eating cheese crackers and stringing beads.
“Hey, Sally.”
“Hi, Cassia.” She’s so focused on her crafts, she doesn’t even look up.
“Do you know where Mom is?”
“Upstairs, I think.”
I grab a banana off the counter and then head upstairs. The bathroom door is open, steam wafting out despite the heat outside.
