Bankrupting My Husband's Fake Perfect Family novel · Chapter 3 of 16

Chapter 3: Larkspur Court

Erin talks her way past Brian, follows the camping trip to a house in Oak Creek, and watches her mother-in-law walk out holding Leo's hand.

I lowered the phone from my ear and pressed it face down against my thigh.

The laptop sat open in front of me with its screen dimmed to black.

"Who was that?" Brian asked.

"My sister. She's in Phoenix. It's midnight there."

"All the way what?"

"All the way to Thanksgiving. She wants us out there."

He came two steps into the room.

His eyes went to the drawer, then to the laptop.

"Why is that out?"

I made myself sigh.

"Your daughter came in here asking for five hundred dollars for a chemistry tutor. Cash. I was checking whether we had it."

"On my backup laptop?"

"It was the only thing on the desk. I didn't know the password. I was using the calculator on my phone."

I held up my phone, still face down.

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then his shoulders came down.

"Mia," he said. "She hit you up for the tutor?"

"She said you already agreed."

"I did." He laughed. "Kid's a shark. Gets it from me."

He closed the laptop and slid it back under the tax returns himself.

He patted my cheek twice.

"Come to bed, babe. Leave the money stuff to me. Your little ledgers give you headaches."

"You're right," I said.

I followed him back down the hall.

The flash drive was in my sock the whole way.

He was asleep again in five minutes.

I uploaded the files from the bathroom floor at 2:40.

Saturday morning they packed the truck.

Sleeping bags. A cooler with nothing in it. Two brand-new fishing rods with the tags still on.

Liam wouldn't meet my eyes.

Mia hugged me with one arm and her phone in the other hand.

"Love you, Mom. Don't be bored."

"I won't be."

Brian kissed me on the mouth in the driveway where the neighbors could see.

"Three days, babe. No signal up there, so don't worry if you can't reach us."

"Drive safe."

I waved until the truck turned off Hawthorn Lane.

Then I got my keys.

Oak Creek was forty minutes north of Westerville.

Not three hours. Not a lake in sight.

The houses were new and all the same beige, with baby trees tied to stakes.

14 Larkspur Court had a red door and a wreath of fake sunflowers.

I parked two houses down behind a landscaping trailer.

Brian's truck was already in the driveway.

Next to it sat a white Porsche with a paper dealer plate.

The garage was open.

Inside I could see a kid's bike, bright blue, with a bow still on the handlebars.

The red door opened.

The blonde woman from the beach came out barefoot in a cropped cardigan.

Danielle Haskins.

She was younger than she'd looked in the photos. Thirty, maybe thirty-one.

Mia ran up the walk and threw her arms around her.

My daughter had given me one arm in our driveway an hour ago.

She gave this woman two.

Liam came around the truck carrying a duffel bag.

A little boy shot out of the house past Danielle's legs.

"Liam! Liam!"

Liam dropped the duffel and swung him up into the air.

The boy shrieked with laughter.

I rolled my window down an inch.

I lifted my phone and started recording.

"Did you see my bike?" the boy yelled.

"Mia got you that," Danielle said. "Say thank you to your sister."

"Thank you, Mia!"

"You're welcome, buddy." Mia turned to Danielle, grinning. "You'll never guess where I got the money."

"Tell me."

"Mom. I said it was for a chemistry tutor."

Danielle laughed so hard she had to hold on to the porch rail.

"She gave it to you?"

"She didn't even ask any questions. She never does."

"Oh, honey." Danielle wiped her eyes. "Your poor mother."

Brian came out of the garage.

He kissed Danielle right there on the step, one hand spread on her lower back.

Liam made a gagging sound.

Everybody laughed.

It looked like a commercial for something.

I kept filming.

My hand was steady. I was proud of that later.

"Come inside," Danielle said. "Lunch is ready. Your grandma made her chicken salad."

My thumb stopped over the red button.

Grandma.

The red door opened again.

A woman stepped out onto the porch in pressed white capris and a pink sweater.

Short silver hair. Pearl earrings. A cane she didn't really need.

She held out her hand, and Leo ran to take it.

It was Patrice.

Brian's mother.

The woman who had told me, every Saturday for three years, that she couldn't come to dinner because of bridge club.

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