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I pick up takeout and drop by my dad’s house, which brings on a barrage of memories in itself, because after my mother passed away, takeout was pretty much our mainstay. It’s hard to remember how we got through those years. Our father must have scheduled Kit and me for regular doctors’ appointments and made sure we had all the paperwork to apply to college, but I find it hard to believehow,exactly, because we were all so frozen with grief. And obviously things fell through the cracks with us. Especially with me.
I’m ready to dig into who Greg might have been having an affair with. For once, my father is home. When I ask if he’d like some pad thai, he smiles wanly and says he isn’t hungry.
I frown. “Are you eating enough, Dad? You look really pale.”
He nods vaguely. “I had a big lunch. Really.”
He pads off to his office. I exchange a look with Kit, who’s unloading plates from the cupboard. The stress is really getting to him. He’s had to fire so many people. Give so many press conferences. And he’s not getting any younger. But my father’s always been stubborn—he works through the flu, through snowstorms, evenright after my mother’s accident. It’s like he thinks the school’s future rests solely on his shoulders.
We open the cartons of food and call for the girls to come down. Just as Kit’s spooning some rice onto her plate, her phone pings. She glances at the screen, and something in her expression brightens. “I have to go,” she murmurs.
“Go where?” I ask, suddenly on alert. Kit has barely left the house except to go to work. The news crews are still prowling the circle, and I can tell they make her uneasy.
“Work thing.” Kit hurries out of the room, her feet clonking heavily on the stairs. “I’ll be back.”
“Whatwork thing?” I yell after her. But she doesn’t answer.
Sienna and Aurora wisp into the room like ghosts, glancing at me uneasily. They silently fill their plates with food and are about to retreat back upstairs—I guess they don’t have any weekend plans—but then I clear my throat. “Hang on. I have a couple of questions for you girls.”
Their faces fall. They’re so sick of my questions.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and it won’t be about anything crazy,” I assure them. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. You know that, right?”
Neither answers that question, probably because all I’vedoneis cause trouble. But they dutifully sit, which is a relief. As I’m pouring the girls sparkling water—they asked for diet soda, but I said no freaking way, refraining from a lecture on what soda chemicals do to one’s insides—Kit returns from upstairs. She’s now wearing a soft, fitted linen dress and smells like freshly spritzed perfume. I watch as she studies her phone again and slips on a pair of high-heeled shoes. As she’s heading for the mudroom toward the garage, I scurry after her.
“Kit,” I say in a low voice so the girls can’t hear. “This has nothing to do with that woman at work, does it?”
Kit frowns. “Of course not.”
But she won’t look at me. Is she lying?Does it have anything to do with that woman’s husband?Kit leans in and pecks me on the cheek, something we never do. “I’ll be back soon.”
After the door slams, I trudge back to the kitchen, scoop some takeout onto my plate, and take a few bites. Normally, I’m not a fan of hole-in-the-wall takeout, as everyone knows the food is filled with MSG and other chemicals, and I’d planned to make myself a salad tonight, but after the stunt Kit just pulled, I feel undone and in need of comfort. Should I follow her?
“Aunt Willa?” Sienna gives me a pained look. “I really want to go back upstairs. What did you want to ask us?”
“Oh.” I swallow a mouthful of oily, delicious noodles, trying to bring myself back to the task at hand. Kit will be okay. I have to believe that. “So, um, you mentioned hearing Greg stumbling around that one night, and you also mentioned it was around the time of a snowstorm. I was able to pull up storms from last year—if we look at Greg’s calendar, maybe we can figure out who he was with that night. Can you remember if the storm was in January, February, or March?”
Sienna pops a chicken satay in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I want to say January. I don’t think Valentine’s happened yet.”
I glance at the notes Paul gave me today at the farm, feeling a stab of regret when I see Paul’s small, neat, rounded handwriting. I wonder how confused he feels at the way I rejected him. Hell,I’mstill confused at myself... and, at the same time, totally unsurprised.
“January tenth,” I read off the list. “Eight inches of snow. Sound right?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
I click to the chunk of data I’ve exported to my laptop from the hack database. It’s Greg’s data—I wanted to have it accessible at all times in case I’m ever in a spot without a cell signal again. Greg’s calendar is in a subfolder, and I open it and scroll back to last January.
According to his calendar, which is jammed with surgeries,meetings, and business events, he didn’t have anything scheduled for the evening, but there was a quadruple bypass slated for 11:00A.M.for someone named P. Vitrillo. I sometimes forget that Greg used to pry open people’s chests and work on their hearts. Kind of an ironic line of work for such an unfeeling person.
I look at the girls. “Did Greg often go out after tough surgeries to blow off steam?”
They exchange a glance. “I don’t really know,” Aurora says. “Maybe?”
I stretch out my legs under the table. “If he did, who might he go with?”
“Other doctors?” Sienna suggests. “Friends?” It’s clear she has no idea.
Aurora makes a face. “Greg always whined about the other doctors, though. Said he’d be happy if he were the only doctor on call.” She picks at her nails.
