Free Crooked Little Lies by Barbara Taylor Sissel Page B

water to drop the fillets into once they were cut, and they took everything outside.
    “I tried to call Dad, to tell him.” About catching the fish, Drew meant. He set down the bowl of water and knelt beside Lauren on the deck. “He’ll freak when he hears.” He took a bite out of the apple he’d pulled out of the sack Lauren had left on the kitchen counter. “I even tried Aunt Tara, but she didn’t pick up, either.”
    “Huh.” Lauren had tried calling Tara, too, and she’d texted her without success. They hadn’t been in touch since early Saturday. Her silence was vaguely disquieting. Lauren had sent her a message to that effect early this morning: Hey, just give me a word so I know ur ok. Jeff said u might be having 2nd thoughts??? She made a deep cut behind the fish’s gills. “Do you see how I’m doing this?” she asked Drew.
    “Let me do it.” He set down his apple core.
    She looked at him. “Can you?”
    He took the knife. “Sure. Who do you think cleans the fish me and Dad catch?” He flashed a look at her, and then he said, “I guess you weren’t around when I learned. You were still out of it probably.”
    She looked away. Did Drew mean out-of-it hurt or out-of-it doped? But what difference did it make? The thing was, for whatever period of time it had taken her to come back to some semblance of normalcy, the better part of a year at least, she’d been absent—first physically, then mentally, and in that time, her children and her husband had done things together, shared experiences she’d never know about. She listened to their talk about them, like now, and she felt hurt, ashamed, and resentful. Some twisted combination. It was wrong. She knew they’d gone through hell, too. Drew had told her that back in September, in a hard, unforgiving voice. Six weeks into the school year, when his grades kept him from playing football for the high school JV team, to his and Jeff’s everlasting embarrassment, he’d blamed Lauren for it. It was her fault, the chaos she’d caused in their lives. How was he supposed to concentrate with all the drama going on?
    He made a slit along the fish’s dorsal fin, then slid his fingers into the opening, feeling for the backbone. Intent on his work, he said, “Man, I wish Dad could have been there when I hooked this baby.”
    She shifted her glance, afraid if she continued to watch, she’d caution him about cutting himself. “He’ll be sorry when he hears.”
    “We didn’t catch shit—sorry, I mean squat—the last time we went out.” His sideways grin was quick, abashed.
    And so endearing Lauren wanted to ruffle his hair, cup his cheek, but the moment felt so fragile to her—that sudden grin, his apparent ease rocketed her back to the days before the accident when they’d been close. She couldn’t bear it if he flinched.
    A half hour later, Drew was upstairs, hopefully finishing his homework, when Kenzie came home. Hearing the car, Lauren left the laundry room, where she was folding clothes, and went out onto the porch. The girls climbed out of the backseat, and after they hugged, Amanda got into the front beside her mom. Suzanne waved and Lauren did, too, and their eyes connected, but the moment was brief and wary. Lauren ought to be used to it by now, the loss of Suzanne’s friendship, but every time their paths crossed, it cut her heart open. They’d shared so much, helped each other out so often; they’d laughed and cried and celebrated together . . . but what good was it, grieving for what was so clearly lost?
    “Hi, Mommy.” Kenzie came up the steps, smiling. Her smile was beautiful, or it would be when the braces came off. Jeff was only half kidding every time he said by the time that happened, they’d have sunk enough money into Kenzie’s mouth that they should be able to slap four wheels on it and take it for a drive. The orthodontia was just one more huge expense on the list that was growing as quickly as the kids.
    Lauren took