I’d thanked him that night for saving me from one more conversation I didn’t have the energy for.
Franny glanced at me at a red light. “You’re doing the thing again. The staring.”
“Sorry.”
“Delia. Is Dalton good to her?”
“He pays the mortgage.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“My husband isn’t cruel,” I said, and hated how badly I needed the sentence to be true. “He’s just tired. Piper’s quiet. They rub each other the wrong way.”
I hated how badly I needed the sentence to be true.
“Okay,” Franny said, not pushing further. She never did. “If that ever changes, you know how to reach me.”
“My dad left something for my daughter, you know. For college. Dalton manages it too. And it’s fine.”
“I’m sure it is,” Franny said, in exactly the same tone I’d used about Dalton being a good provider.
Two women pretending together.
Part Two: The Empty Room
The house was too quiet when I stepped inside. I set my bag down in the hallway. “Piper? Dal? I’m home.”
Nothing answered but the hum of the refrigerator.
I walked toward Piper’s room, my feet slowing on their own before I got there. Her door stood open. That door was never open when she wasn’t in it. Inside, the closet gaped empty, a row of bare wire hangers knocking softly together in the draft from the vent, ticking like a clock I hadn’t noticed starting.
Ticking like a clock I hadn’t noticed starting.
From the kitchen, I heard movement. “Where is she?” I called.
Dalton sat at the counter, calmly buttering a slice of bread, not looking up. “She left.”
“She left?”
“I told her to.”
My suitcase slid from my fingers and hit the tile with a crack too loud for the quiet house. I braced a hand on the counter because my knees felt weak. “You did WHAT?”
“She’s eighteen, Delia. She’s an adult. I got tired of her sitting around, eating our food, living off my paycheck.”
