want to see me, huh?” I try to keep my voice light, even though it hurts to think that Mom’s avoiding me.
“Give her some time,” says Addie, sending me a look of sympathy.
Heading for Mom’s bedroom, I find her purse, then bring it to Addie.
She opens the door and steps onto the porch, saying, “Hold down the fort while we’re gone.”
“We’ll do our best,” Wyatt says, then in a teasing mock-whisper to me, adds, “Go see if she locked up the liquor cabinet.”
Addie shakes her head and mutters something sarcastic about Wyatt leaving for college as she closes the door.
Suddenly serious, Wyatt says hesitantly, “Speaking of college, are we still on for going to OU together in the fall?”
I tell him that I’m not sure I should leave Mom alone so soon after Dad’s death, and that maybe I should go to Silver Lake Community College next semester instead. I could transfer to OU in the spring.
He exhales loudly. “Man. It won’t be the same without you. Maybe I should—”
“Don’t change your plans because of me, Wyatt,” I break in. “Dad said we should do our own thing and not influence the other’s decisions.” My throat tightens. “We’re not little kids anymore. We’re not always going to be around for each other.”
Wyatt looks like I stabbed him, then he turns and stares into the fire.
“That came out wrong, Wyatt. You know what I meant.”
“It just seems weird that you might not always be close by,” he mutters.
“I know.”
He gives me a sideward glance. “I wasn’t seriously considering staying here with you, though. Did you really think I’d give up a semester of beer pong and hot college girls for your sake?”
I smirk at him. “Yeah, I should’ve known better than that.”
Wyatt stands up and stretches. “So what do you want to do this afternoon?”
“Take advantage of Mom being gone.” I motion toward the hallway. “Come on.”
He frowns. “Where are we going?”
“To look for Dad’s spare keys to the workshop. I want to see what Mom finds so interesting out there.”
5
After going through all of the dresser and nightstand drawers in my parents’ bedroom, I start in on their closet.
Wyatt stands inside the doorway, leaning against the frame. “I don’t feel right about this,” he mutters.
“You don’t have to help,” I tell him, shoving hangers across the rod. I understand why he doesn’t approve. I feel like a thief as I search inside pockets and shoes. If Mom walked in, she might never speak to me again. I’d be furious if I ever found her nosing through my personal items. How can I expect her to feel any different?
But I can’t stop myself, and it doesn’t help that Iris is urging me on. She frets through my mind, as anxious as I am to figure out what’s up with Mom.
Standing on tiptoe, I snag my finger under the lid of a shoebox on the upper closet shelf and drag it toward me. The movement causes something to slide across the bottom of the box and the rattling sound of metal against metal trips my pulse. I take the box down and pull off the lid. “Here they are!”
Lifting the ring of keys, I turn to find Wyatt watching me with an expression that makes me ashamed of my triumphant feelings.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say. “I can’t just sit around crying and wondering what Mom’s hiding for the rest of my life. That’s all I’ve done for the past few days, and I’m sick of it.” I wait for him to speak, and when he doesn’t, I say defensively, “Well, what would you do?”
He blinks at me. “The same thing, probably. But maybe you should go to your mom one more time.”
“She won’t talk to me! She just keeps saying that she’s going through Dad’s things or that she’s sketching when she’s out in his shop.”
“Maybe she is.”
“Then why won’t she let me in?”
Wyatt pushes away from the door and sighs. “Let’s find out.”
Minutes later, memories of Dad wash over me as we enter the shop. “Would you close the door?” I say quickly to Wyatt. “I feel too exposed with it up.”
He slides the door down behind us as I wander toward an unfinished cabinet in the center of the room. The scents of pungent wood shavings and Dad’s spicy pipe tobacco surround me. Dust motes dance in the blades of light that slice down from the small windows above. Stooping, I run my fingers along the edge