“Hi, Apple. Why are you calling me?”
“I need to talk to you,” she says, “about Braden Black.”
My heart thunders. “Why?”
“There are things you need to know. Things Addie will never tell you. Things no one knows except Addie and me.”
“Not Betsy?”
“Betsy?”
“Betsy Davis. Your friend from your childhood.”
“Right. Wow. I haven’t given her a thought in ages.”
“You haven’t? Addison posts for her all the time.”
She scoffs. “You seem to be under the delusion that I pay a lick of attention to Addie’s Instagram. I couldn’t care less.”
Yup, night and day, all right.
“I’m out of town, currently, but I’m returning tonight.”
“Great. I’ll meet you at the airport. Give me your flight information.”
“Wait, wait, wait… How about sometime tomorrow?”
“This can’t wait, Skye. I’m serious.”
My heart begins beating like a snare drum during a Sousa march. “You can’t leave me hanging like this. Seriously. What’s going on?”
“All I can tell you is that Addie’s watching you both. I’m concerned for you.”
“I already know she’s up to something. I’ve been watching her. I’m sure Braden has as well.”
“Yeah, probably. But he can take care of himself.”
“All right. Why, though? Why are you telling me all this?”
“Well, as someone wise once said, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, grasshopper.”
I’ve heard that phrase before. From The Art of War? Maybe. Not the grasshopper part. I’m not sure where Apple got that. “Okay. But you can’t tell me anything now?”
“Not over the phone. Sorry. I don’t trust my sister as far as I can throw her. She could be monitoring calls.”
True. When she ends the call, I toss my phone into my purse. Braden is in New York, and I have no idea when he’ll be back in Boston. Probably not tonight. What does Apple want to tell me? More importantly, what is so important that she can’t say it over the phone because she thinks Addie might be listening in?
What have I gotten myself into?
I head home. My mother and father are sitting together on the deck in back. I regard them before they’re aware of my presence. They’re not touching each other—Dad is paging through a magazine and Mom’s reading a book—but the comfort between them is palpable. They belong together. They love each other. They’ve long overcome the events of seventeen years ago.
The least I can do is the same.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.”
They both look up.
“Hi, sweetie,” Dad says. “I didn’t hear you come outside.”
“You both seemed buried in whatever you’re reading.”
Mom hold up a tattered copy of Jane Eyre, one of my favorites. “Bet you forgot you left this here.”
I nod. “I have another copy from the lit course I took in college.”
“I just started it. Since you love it so much, I figured it was time I gave it a read.”
“What do you think so far?”
“It’s a little slow.”
“At first, yeah. But don’t give up on it. It’s a fantastic story. What are you reading, Dad?”
He holds up his magazine. “Agriculture Weekly.”
I smile. Dad really loves what he does. He always has. Those several months away from the farm must have been hell for him, and not just because he knew his wife was sleeping with someone else.
Anger rears its ugly head.
I take in a breath. Then another. Seventeen years ago, Skye. Seventeen fucking years. Just because it seems like yesterday to you doesn’t mean it was.
“Guess what?” Dad says.
“What?”
“Mom and I just opened up Instagram accounts. It’s time for us to get on board with your new career. You look gorgeous in all those posts, sweetie.”
I smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Have you eaten lunch yet?” Mom asks.
“Not yet.”
She puts her book down. “I’ll make you something.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll get something for myself.”
Dad stands then. “I should be getting back to work. See you at dinner, sweetie.”
“Actually…” I begin.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve decided to fly back to Boston tonight.”
“But you just got here,” Dad says.
“I know. And I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I’m under contract, and I need to get back to work.”
“Then why did you plan to stay the week?” Mom asks.
Good question. I let out a breath as I decide to be honest. “I came back to figure some things out about myself.”
“And have you?”
I nod. “Not all of it, but I’ve got a good start. I appreciate our talk, Mom. And between Rosa Brooke and Braden, I think I’m on the right track.”
“What are you talking about, sweetie?” Dad asks.
“Didn’t you tell him?” I ask Mom.
“Tell me what?”
“Oh, Skye…”
“Sorry, Mom, but he has a right to know.” I turn to Dad. “I asked Mom about why the two of you separated all those years ago, and she finally told me the truth.”
Dad clears his throat. “Maggie…”
“I made you look good,” Mom says. “It was my fault.”
“It was both our faults,” he says. “Your mother wasn’t getting what she needed from me.”