“With my mother?”
“With your mother. Your father. Braden. All of them. It’s time to forgive your mother. And it’s time to forgive yourself.”
“Myself? For what?”
“For being a difficult kid. For fighting your mother so much. You weren’t abnormal. Lots of kids have a stubborn streak. I had one myself.”
“Did you drive your mother into another man’s bed?”
“No, but neither did you.”
I nod. I get what she’s saying. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“No, it absolutely wasn’t. Both of your parents would probably tell you the same thing.”
“My mom already did.”
“See?”
My phone stops buzzing. “I missed the call.”
“Go. Call him back. Then call me tomorrow at two p.m. and we’ll talk some more. If you need more help after that, I’ll find a referral for you in Boston. But, Skye?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
…
Back on Main Street, I reach for my phone to return Braden’s call, when it buzzes again.
I put it to my ear, smiling. “Hey! Sorry I couldn’t answer. I was just getting ready to call you back.”
“You were?” A female voice that sounds vaguely familiar. Not Addie, but Addie-like.
Shit. I didn’t look at the number. I just assumed it was Braden trying again.
“Sorry, I was expecting another call.”
“Are you Skye Manning?”
“That depends. Who are you?”
“I’m Apple Ames. Addison’s sister.”
Apple. Addie’s hippie twin sister. I met her once, a year ago. She prattled on and on about Zen and motorcycles and the Dalai Lama. Despite their duplicate DNA, she and Addie are like night and day. Though which is which, I couldn’t say.
“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.”