It takes this.
A change of heart. Sticking to my story. And a heat advisory.
When I wake up the next morning, Fine and Ross are home. Sitting in the kitchen in their bathrobes. Strangely quiet. An empty table. Mom staring out the window.
“What’s wrong?” I ask them. “You’re scaring me.”
Mom looks at me blankly, then picks up her coffee cup. “Did I finish this?”
“An hour ago.” Dad makes her a fresh cup.
“I knew this could happen—of course it’s always a possibility—but in a million years, I never thought it would,” Mom says.
Dad scratches his unshaven chin. “You never know what’s in people’s minds.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Melanie,” Mom says, “had a change of heart. She called us early this morning with big news. After all their arguing, hating each other … this whole legal mess … she decided to go back to her husband.”
“Really?”
“It happens. Hearts are a funny thing,” Dad says.
Mom smirks. “Hearts? He bought her a five-carat diamond ring. She said that made her realize just how much she still loves him. So. We’re done. She dropped the case.”
“Wow,” I say. “Just like that?”
Dad nods. “Just like that.”
“I give them six months,” Mom says, sighing.
Matt sort of drifts into the room. “What’s going on?”
For the first time in a long time, the four of us are in the same room at the same time.
“Did someone, like, die or something?” Matt says.
“Their client dropped the case,” I answer.
Matt raises his eyebrows, leans against a counter, avoids my eyes.
“Apparently it’s on the news,” Dad says. “We haven’t watched.”
Mom gets up and stands at the patio door. “You know there’s a heat advisory today? For the next few days too. My mother used to say the heat makes people crazy.”
“Simple Truth?” I ask.
Mom looks at me, nods slowly.
“You’re taking this much too hard, Erica,” Dad says. “We should go downtown. Get on with things.”
Mom shakes her head. “Not today. I got so caught up in it. All those billable hours … It doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would. I’m irritated and … just really tired.”
The four of us stand there. Cold air is coming from the vent by my feet. The sun makes a prism on the table. The coffee machine is blinking—add water.
Dad looks at Matt. “We haven’t had a free minute until today, but we need to know, Matthew, were you in that house across the street the other night? Tell us the truth.”
“I told you,” I say, before Matt can answer. “I saw some kids running away. Why don’t you believe me?”
“You always jump to conclusions—” Matt says.
“If you’ve done something again—” Dad says, clenching his jaw.
“It wasn’t him!” I shout. Fifty-eight. I think.
I have to do something. Now. Fast.
“Let’s make breakfast,” I blurt. “I’m starving.”
The air conditioner clicks off. A few seconds go by.
“Now that you mention it …,” Dad says.
Matt shrugs. “I can always eat.”
Mom digs in a cabinet, takes out a frying pan. “I think I still know how to scramble an egg.”
“You’re really scaring me now,” I say.
She laughs. Wow.
Dad sits down, sips his coffee. “Erica, you know something? I was all right with the old Fine and Ross. Before Melanie turned us upside down. I think we need some perspective.”
Mom’s cracking eggs. Her shoulders drop a little, but she doesn’t answer. And then I notice there’s something in her wardrobe that isn’t black. Her bathrobe. It’s pink with little flowers, and it belonged to Grandma.
“Perspective is good.” I start opening cabinets. “Ms. Quinlan says that’s the basis of everything.”
“What are you looking for?” Mom asks, measuring pancake batter.
“Those glasses.”
“Which glasses?”
“I found them.” The fancy ones, from the lemonade a long time ago. They’re dusty.
Miraculously, we have strawberries. Matt wipes the glasses while I rinse the strawberries and cut a slice in four of them. Matt and I set the table. Fifty-nine. Wow again.
Scrambled eggs. Burnt pancakes. Slightly expired orange juice, which Dad says is still drinkable. Strawberries on the rims. The four of us at the kitchen table. Small talk. A joke. Dad cutting the pancakes like he used to cut spaghetti.
Not perfect. A little rusty.
But still a family.