Chapter 13: The Clip

"Because Shea changed it," I said. "Without asking me."

My mother set the phone down on the counter very carefully.

"Why would she do that?"

"I'll tell you on Saturday."

"Melinda."

"I'm asking you to wait. Sit in the front row, and don't say a word to Shea about this call."

Her mouth went thin.

"You want me to watch my own daughters like a play."

"I want you to trust me for six days."

"I have always trusted you."

"I know you have, Mom."

It was not the same as believing me, and we both heard that.

She looked at her hands, which were holding the edge of the counter.

Down the hall, a door opened, and Shea's voice floated in, bright and sleepy.

"Is that coffee? Mom, did the venue call?"

My mother straightened her cardigan.

"It was the florist," she said, without turning around. "They need you to pick the peonies."

It was the first lie I had ever heard her tell.

She told it well, and her eyes found mine, hurt and waiting.

An hour later I was on Wyatt's porch with a check in my bag.

He was sitting on the top step with the laptop closed on his knees.

Biscuit lay across his boots and thumped his tail twice at me.

"You look like you've decided something," I said.

"I have." He didn't smile. "Sit down. I've got something to show you, and I should have shown you on Friday morning."

I sat.

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