“I’m fine, honey.”
She wasn’t.
We both knew it.
Chloe stared through the window after Richard.
A MOMENT LATER, SHE STOOD UP ABRUPTLY.
“I need to run out. I’ll be right back.”
“Chloe, wait, it’s dark out.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.”
Before I could stop her, the door slammed behind her.
I looked at the door.
Then at Mom.
Then at the untouched birthday pie.
“Well,” Mom said with a brittle laugh. “That’s one way to end a birthday.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“Avery.”
“He is! Whatever he’s hiding, he’s an idiot for hiding it tonight.”
I started gathering dishes simply to keep my hands busy.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Then twenty.
I looked out the window.
Nothing.
“Do you think I should call her?”
Mom looked up.
“Maybe give it a little more time. She probably needed to clear her head. She’ll be back.”
I paced between the kitchen and living room.
Chloe had been wearing that particular expression when she left—the one that usually meant I would be lecturing her for the next week.
Almost forty minutes later, footsteps pounded up the porch.
The front door flew open.
Chloe stood there breathing heavily, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Clutched tightly against her chest was Richard’s leather tote.
“Chloe?”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Chloe, where did you get that?”
She shook her head.
