Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AINSLEY
P eter had hardly listened to a word I’d said at dinner about Maisy suddenly quitting dance class. It wasn’t like her to drop her commitments so casually, but he didn’t seem to notice or care about the sudden change in her personality.
When he walked outside, I realized why. Though I didn’t recognize the man he was meeting, I recognized the look in my husband’s eyes: panic.
Ice-cold fear.
I watched them interacting, knowing the weapons were hidden in my husband’s secret room, and that the children were just inside. I couldn’t do anything but watch and wait.
Wonder what was going to happen.
And then, somewhat anticlimactically, the man left.
When Peter trudged toward the house, I stepped inside, waiting for him to enter.
“Who was that man?” I asked, keeping my voice low the second he’d entered the house .
“I told you, a guy from work.”
“You didn’t really tell me anything, though. That’s the point. Who is he? I’ve never seen him before. Why are you being so secretive? Are you up to something?”
He walked past me, moving toward the kitchen where our wineglasses sat from dinner. As he scooped his up, taking a drink and avoiding my eyes, I pressed on. “Peter, what is going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. I was thirsty. Please don’t make this into something it isn’t.”
His cheeks were red, both from the wine and the lies, but I didn’t argue. Instead, I waited, which seemed to make him even more uncomfortable than if I’d started an argument.
“Alright, fine. Well, that was Jim. Like I said, we work together and he’s been going through some stuff at home. I—”
I folded my arms across my chest, cutting him off. “Like what?”
“It’s personal,” he lied. “But he’d asked me for some advice awhile back, and he came to tell me how it went. He’s really struggling.”
“He didn’t seem like he was struggling with anything. And why couldn’t he just text you? Did that really warrant a visit?” He took another drink, buying himself time, so I went on. “And why couldn’t I introduce myself to him? You practically raised your leg and marked me as your territory. You were uncomfortable with him… Why?”
At that, there was an unmistakable hint of a grin on his lips, but he fought it down. “I just didn’t want him to think I’d been telling you everything. I was trying to sneak out without you noticing. He’s told me a lot in confidence, and I want to hold his trust. That’s it.”
I raised a brow, staring at him. Sometimes, I just didn’t understand him. He chose to lie over the most inconsequential things. Why, when I’d made a point to prove how loyal I was to him—no matter what—did he insist on lying to me?
But there was no point in pressuring him. He’d just shut down further.
No, I needed to find out the truth and then confront him.
It was the only way to do things with Peter. Though for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why.
For now, there were more pressing issues. “Fine. So, which one of us is going to talk to Maisy?”
“About what?”
I scoffed, a hand on my hip. Had he truly already forgotten? “About her quitting dance, Peter. What do you mean, about what ?”
“I thought we’d already moved past that. She said she didn’t want to do it anymore, so what’s the problem?”
I wanted to throttle him.
“The problem is that she’s eleven years old and suddenly she doesn’t want to do the thing she’s loved doing since she was four. And this change is completely out of nowhere, without even a mention to us about what caused her to come to such a rash decision. It’s not normal. It’s not like her.”
“Who says it’s a rash decision? Maybe she thought it through.”
“Without talking to us? Not a single time? That doesn’t seem likely.”
“Her friends aren’t dancing, so she doesn’t want to. It’s not the end of the world. Why are you so upset about it?” He stared at the last of the wine in the bottle, holding it out to me. I shook my head, holding up a hand to say I’d pass, so he poured the remainder into his glass.
“Because this isn’t about dance, Peter,” I said. “Don’t you see that?” No, he didn’t see it. I could read that in his expression. He thought I was being irrational. Maybe I was.
What I knew was that our daughter didn’t make huge decisions without talking to us. If she’d quit dance, I had to believe there was a reason that went deeper than what she was admitting to us.
Was it peer pressure from her friends?
Had she begun to feel uncomfortable with her body?
Was she struggling with the more advanced routines?
I just didn’t know.
“Then what is it about?” he asked, puckering his lips from his last sip of wine.
I folded my arms across my chest, trembling from my own agitation. “She said she didn’t tell us because she doesn’t feel like she can talk to us anymore.”
“She said that?” He appeared skeptical.
“In not so many words,” I insisted. “The boys agreed with her, too. They said we seem stressed and busy all the time lately.”
“Yeah, well, understatement of the year.” He tipped the glass toward me.
“Our kids still need us,” I snipped. “No matter what we have going on, we have to keep them a priority— ”
“We do—”
“That’s not how they see it. A year or two ago, Maisy would’ve told us about this decision. Now she didn’t feel like she could. I’m not saying that’s entirely our fault, but now that we know about it, we have to do what we can to fix it.”
He contemplated what I’d said, twisting his mouth in thought. “Alright, fine,” he said eventually, “but what are you suggesting?”
I was sick from the struggle within me—trying to make sure he understood the severity of the situation while trying not to overreact. “I’m not going to push her tonight, but this is even more reason why we need this trip to the cabin this weekend. We need to remind the kids we’re there for them, no matter what. Agreed?”
“Yeah, agreed.” His response was halfhearted, but I’d take it.
“We have to keep communication open between us. All of us. Secrets, lies, unspoken truths…they’ll all come back to bite us if we aren’t careful. If we can’t trust this family, if they can’t trust us, then what are we even doing?” I drilled home the last part, hoping he’d realize it was meant for him as much as it was for them.
He chuckled, though, not taking it nearly as seriously as I’d meant it. “They can trust us, babe. They know they can. And you can trust me.”
So, maybe he had understood.
My lips pressed together in what should’ve been a smile but felt more like a grimace. Still, he took it and turned to walk away, ruby red splotches on his neck.
Another lie.