Page 113 of Between the Lines

Instead I slam the box next to the silver key on the counter and without looking back, I walk out the door.

Braving a gaze at his house, I see that everything is the same. The lights are still off, there’s no movement inside.

But then again, it’s a big house, he could simply be hiding from me.

Too big for one person.

Once I pull to the end of the driveway, I peer in the rearview mirror and send him a text. I ignore everything else he’s said and get straight to the point.

I keep it professional.

Fia: I left the key on the kitchen counter. Thank you for allowing me to stay there. I’ll be back at work tomorrow as scheduled.

I hit send and toss my phone into the seat next to me, biting back any feelings bubbling to the surface.

Yes, lines were crossed and nothing feels okay right now, but I’ll get better at repairing broken things.

“What is she doing here?” I whisper, barely audible above the music in my car. Penny’s leaning on a porch pillar as she sits on the newly repaired front steps in a soft blue sundress.

She stands up as I approach.

“Hey,” she starts. There’s no edge to her tone.

“Hi.”

The front door swings open and Jesse appears, dressed all in black, barely breaking a sweat. He quickly wraps an arm around my sister’s shoulders, kissing her temple, and flashes me a knowing look.

“You two need to talk.”

I shake my head, keys jangling in my hand. “I need to unpack first.”

Jesse plucks my car keys from my fingers. “Just go talk, I got this.”

He can carry four times what I can in one load, and with the way Penny is looking at me, I know I don’t have a choice.

“Alright then,” I reply, gesturing for my sister to follow me inside.

My sandals catch on the doormat when I step into the foyer. “Holy cow . . .”

It’s not just clean, it’s sparkling. “You can see the floors,” I choke out, looking around for a stash of junk pushed into the corner, but there isn’t one.

“It’s spotless in here,” Penny echoes, and we continue into the kitchen, which tells the same story—the green tiled counters shine, and the living room is tidy. Even the light seems to beam brighter through the windows.

“He must’ve had cleaners come through . . .” My sentence tapers off. I don’t want to think about him right now.

Penny watches me closely, and I offer what I hope looks like a smile.

“Want to sit out back?” I ask as Jesse walks into the kitchen, dropping a cooler onto the counter.

Penny leads us out to the concrete pad with two sun-faded plastic chairs.

As I drop into one, insects buzz around. The old oak tree in the yard offers shade, but the chair beneath me squeaks, and I stifle a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and groan . . . because this is a far cry from the poolside lounge chairs I’ve grown used to.

My foot bounces nervously against the cracked concrete, and Penny stretches back, shutting her eyes momentarily, the sun glowing against her face.

The two of us haven’t fought since she found out I was pregnant, and though that was nearly two years ago, the anxiety fluttering in my chest is familiar. There’s no worse feeling for me than being at odds with my sister, but things haven’t been right between us for a while.

I’m afraid the house was just the cherry on top that exposed all we were burying.