“You got Brenna a dog?” I hiss at Keith.
Keith’s hands shoot up in a sign of surrender, his own chest heaving. “I’m just the Madden flower and dog delivery boy, remember? He got Brenna the dog.” He nods toward Brett, who’s only now coming around the corner, a sheepish smile on his face. Keith and Jack promptly move away as I close the distance.
“What have you done?” He’s mentioned a dog in passing, but I didn’t expect this.
Why didn’t I expect this?
“Singer said it’s best to just act first and beg for your forgiveness later.”
“Yeah, that is Keith’s MO. I’ve wanted to murder him a dozen times for it.”
“Come on.” Brett spins me around by the shoulders and rests his chin on my head. “Look at how happy Brenna is.”
“Of course she is. This is literally her dream come true.” Everything here is. The dog, the house, family and friends surrounding her on her birthday.
“And she deserves to have her dream come true. She’s a good kid.”
“Mommy, look! It’s Stella!” Her smile is wider than I’ve ever seen it before.
“We’re not allowed to have dogs at my house.”
“This is your house.”
“No, this is your house,” I grumble stubbornly.
“How long are you going to keep up that charade?” His voice is thick with amusement as he mimics my words from last week.
We can’t get into that discussion right now. I heave a sigh and simply allow myself to listen to Brenna’s infectious giggles carry into the night as my throat grows thick with emotion.
“How mad are you at me right now?”
“Furious,” I whisper softly, tears threatening. “But thank you. For being in our lives. I’ve never been this happy.”
His arms tighten around my body. “Neither have I.” There’s a long pause. “By the way, we owe Keith a detailing. She peed in his truck.”
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. “We’re never going to hear the end of that.”
“Misty! Look what I got!” Brenna shrieks.
I turn to see Misty standing in the doorway. And, thankfully, alone. I guess she’s not mad enough at me to skip Brenna’s birthday. “I should go over there.”
“’Kay. Just maybe don’t give her the passcode to our house.”
“Don’t you start, too.”
Brett leans over to press a kiss against my cheek. “And I promise you can make me grovel for forgiveness about the dog later.”
I grin up at him, even as my blood begins to race. “Don’t worry, I will.”
I feel Brett’s gaze on me as I make my way back to the porch. “Hey! I’m glad you made it. ” I nod toward the pink gift bag dangling from her fingertips. “We’ll have to give that to her later. She’s a bit distracted right now.”
“I see that.” Misty’s wide eyes dance from me to everyone now surrounding Brenna and Stella. “You have to show me the porch,” she blurts out, already moving back inside.
I trail after her. “We had furniture delivered a few days ago but it’s all in here.” I lead Misty through to the separate apartment in the back, where the delivery guys dropped a soft charcoal-gray couch and giant flat-screen TV, and two complete bedroom sets—one for Brenna and one for Brett and me. I don’t know where Simone ordered it all from, but she has impeccable taste, I’ll give her that.
“It’s a little eerie, actually. It’s so big and empty right now. I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to get used to—”
“Matt’s not Brenna’s father, is he?”
My mouth drops open.
“You lied to me.” Misty’s bottom lip begins to tremble, in that way she gets when she’s really upset. And I can see that she is, acute pain shining in her eyes.
“I didn’t—”
“DJ said that Matt told him you guys never hooked up. You were talking and laughing, and then he tried kissing you and you shut him down.”
I close my eyes as I’m brought back to that night. I remember thinking that if I drank enough, smoked enough, I’d forget all about Scott. “I didn’t lie.” My voice cracks over that word. “I just didn’t correct you when—”
“You’ve been lying to me all these years!” Disbelief fills her eyes. “After everything we’ve been through. I mean . . . I held your hand while Brenna was born!”
My voice is a thick rasp. “Can we please not do this right now? I’ll explain it later.” If I can just contain this . . .
There’s no containing Misty, though, not when she’s this upset. “And you let me and Lou—and everyone—believe that Brenna’s father was some drug dealing loser? Why?”
“Because it was easier that way.”
Tears roll down Misty’s face. She’s always been emotional, crying over things I might barely notice. Only this time, I can see that I’ve hurt her gravely.
“It’s Scott Philips, isn’t it? You slept with him again and you didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Can we please just do this later? When my family isn’t outside?” I leave before Misty can push for an answer.
And find a wall of stunned faces—Lou, Emma, Keith, my father, and my mother—at the end of the hall.
“I had a feeling DJ would bring nothing but trouble.” Lou’s voice is all the more hollow echoing through the cavernous space.
The empty space where voices carry far. And the windows are open. “Brenna!” I whisper frantically. “Where is she?”
“She’s with Jack and Leroy. She didn’t hear anything.” Brett stands in the open doorway that leads out to the covered porch.
But he surely did. It’s not shock I see in his face. I can’t read exactly what that is. Realization that I’m not so honest after all, perhaps. That I lied to him, along with everyone else.
Whatever it is, I’m certain it means this fairy tale is over.
Chapter 33
September 2010
The empty soda can topples, clattering noisily against the rocks.
“Shit!” I stumble behind a bush, my eyes on the windows, watching for any signs of movement.
There’s nothing besides the dim flicker of a TV.
I release a sigh of relief and hunker back down on my boulder with the giant water bottle I filled with vodka and 7UP. Misty said her dad doesn’t care if we drink his booze, as long as we replace it before he’s back in three weeks.
The burn of it as it begins to course through my limbs helps against the chill in the night air, but it does little against the eeriness of the darkness that surrounds me. I huddle in my sweatshirt and remind myself that there’s nothing besides raccoons and squirrels here in the woods.
And an art teacher.
I didn’t actually know if he’d be here when I hopped on my bike, but I remembered him once saying that he comes almost every weekend in autumn to paint the colorful fall foliage. And I didn’t know if he’d be alone, or with her. But I’m ecstatic to see only his motorcycle parked next to the dilapidated shed.
The reasonable part of me knows that coming out here is wrong, that I shouldn’t be lurking outside the cabin Scott inherited from his grandparents. And yet, here I am.