Chapter 16
The brownies are still in the oven when the front door slams shut.
It’s too early for Cooper to be home. And Lexi is likely frolicking around God knows where with her boyfriend.
I checked her location with Findly ten minutes ago, and she was at the Hingham Shipyard.
So unless it’s a burglar, which I suppose is possible but unlikely in the middle of the day, it must be Izzy.
“Izzy?” I call out.
No answer. But the footsteps coming from the foyer sound like hers. I pride myself on being able to distinguish the members of my family just based on their footsteps. Izzy’s are quiet but surefooted. That’s what makes her so good at soccer.
Sure enough, a few moments later, my younger daughter’s face appears at the entrance to the kitchen. I turn to acknowledge her, even though she has not yet said one word.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey.”
I open the door to the oven to check on the brownies, and the scent of chocolate quickly fills the kitchen. I inhale deeply and sigh. It’s one of my favorite smells.
“Why are you always making brownies?” Izzy complains.
I look at her in surprise. First of all, I am not “always” making brownies. In fact, the last time I made them was nearly a year ago, for a holiday bake sale at her school. And second of all, what child complains about fresh baked brownies? Even Lexi doesn’t find fault in my baking.
“Sorry,” I say. “I guess that means you don’t want any.”
“Ew, no.”
Ew? I can only shake my head, but that’s fine. Even if she wanted to try one, I wouldn’t give it to her.
Izzy is still standing at the door to the kitchen like she wants to tell me something, but she’s completely silent, her backpack lying at her sneakers.
It’s unusual because between my two girls, Izzy is the chatterbox.
She never stops talking, whereas Lexi always chooses her words more carefully.
(Especially in the morning, when talking is verboten.)
“So what happened with soccer?” I ask her.
“Nothing.” She lifts a shoulder halfway as if she’s too tired to actually shrug. “I got sick of it.”
I find that really hard to believe. Izzy has been playing soccer since she was in kindergarten.
Every Saturday morning, bright and early, I would drive her to the local middle school where they had soccer practice for the grade school kids.
Finding parking during soccer practice was a stressful and sometimes terrifying experience, but as soon as I found a spot, Izzy would burst out of the car in her pigtails and cleats and soccer socks.
(I still don’t understand what soccer socks are, but I obligingly bought them every single year.) Practice was her favorite part of the whole week.
So no, I don’t believe she quit.
“Lexi says you got kicked off the team,” I remind her.
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I quit.”
It was so easy to tell when Izzy was lying when she was little. When she was about three years old, she stole some chocolate chip cookies from the kitchen, and she swore her innocence, but the whole time, her lips were stained with chocolate and cookie crumbs. Little kids are so clueless.
She’s a much better liar now, but I have no doubt that she didn’t quit soccer. She would never quit soccer.
“You’re not going to call Coach Pike, are you?” she asks in a worried voice.
“Of course not.”
“Because that won’t change anything.”
“I told you, I’m not going to call him.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.” I let the oven door bang closed. “Do you think I don’t have anything better to do than call your coach? He probably wouldn’t even answer the phone anyway.”
Her shoulders relax after my reassurance. “I’m going to do my homework. I’ve got a ton of homework this year.” The fog in her eyes clears slightly. “So it’s actually better I don’t have soccer.”
Bullshit. But okay, I’ll pretend to believe it if it makes her feel better. “Izzy?”
She avoids my gaze. “Yeah?”
I consider asking if Coach Pike ever peeked in on the girls in the locker room the way Lexi’s friend said he did. But I have a feeling that even if it’s true, she’ll never tell me the truth.
“Do you need any help with your homework?” I finally ask.
“Nope.”
She never does.
Izzy doesn’t ask me about my own day, but that’s not surprising.
She couldn’t care less about my day. She’s a good kid, but it doesn’t matter to her that my magazine photo shoot got co-opted.
She might care that I lost my job at the newspaper if it means less money for the family, but we’ve got Cooper’s job to rely on, so it probably won’t even register.
It’s not worth mentioning, honestly. My kids have more important things to think about than their mother’s drama. Besides, I can handle it.
Izzy gives me one last suspicious look, because she knows that I’m not good at leaving things alone when I’m upset over them. But she doesn’t question me further. After a minute, she picks up her backpack and heads in the direction of the stairwell.
I always keep my promises to my children. I promised Izzy I wouldn’t call her soccer coach. And I won’t.
I’m going to drive down there.