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Emma
Neither car was in their driveway, or what used to be their driveway.
“Mom, where’s your car?”
“I don’t know. He probably sold it.”
“Already?”
“I don’t know,” she said again, sounding irritated.
Emma pulled her phone out and, for the first time since she’d found out about the affair, texted her father. “Where is Mom’s car?”
The door was locked, but her mom quickly located their hide-a-key rock and let them inside. Emma stepped through the door, and at the familiar smell of the place, homesickness washed over her. Her eyes burned with tears, but she tried to hold them back. She wanted to be strong for her mother. This was probably even harder on her.
Most of the stuff in the house was already gone.
Her mom whistled. “Wow, your dad’s been busy.”
“Don’t call him that.”
Her mom gave her a sad look and then pulled her in for a hug. She kissed her on the top of the head. “I’m so sorry that this is all happening to you, Emma, but he is still your dad. I know that he loves you. He just doesn’t love me.” She let her go.
Emma lost her battle with the tears. “If he loved me, he would never have done any of this.” Her phone chimed, and she pulled it out of her pocket.
“It wasn’t her car. And it’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?” she texted back.
“Who is that?”
Emma shoved the phone back into her pocket. “No one.” She looked around the almost empty room. “Well, at least he’s done most of the work for us.”
“I wish I had some boxes.”
They heard someone pull into the driveway, and Emma went to the window. “It’s the Puddys.” She giggled. “Looks like all of them. And they brought two vehicles.”
Her mother came to stand beside her. “Can they even fit into one vehicle?”
“I think so?”
Mrs. Puddy knocked on the door, which was still ajar. “Yoo-hoo!” she called.
“Come on in,” Emma’s mom called back.
She stepped inside, and her family followed her in.
“Thanks for coming,” her mom said. “We were just wondering, can you all fit into your van?”
Mrs. Puddy laughed. “Sort of. Our seats can be collapsed into the floor, and well, one of them is stuck like that. We’ll fix it eventually, but we also thought maybe we could use the truck. Where are we moving your stuff to?”
Her mother looked at the floor. “I’m taking some of it next door, but most of it’s going to Goodwill.”
At first no one said anything, and her mother looked up.
“Why Goodwill?” Mrs. Puddy asked.
Mr. Puddy slid a hand onto his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t try to revise the plan, Lauren.”
Her mom looked around the room. “What do I need any of this for? A thousand books for women’s Bible studies? I will never be allowed to lead one of those again. A million dishes for entertaining? A gazillion pie plates and cake pans?” She looked at Lauren. “And don’t get me started on all the church dresses. I plan to never wear pantyhose again.”
Mrs. Puddy nodded. “Okay, I hear you. And Goodwill is a good plan. But just for conversation’s sake”—her husband groaned—“our new church is stocking an almost empty kitchen. We could take any cookware and dishes you don’t want. And we’re starting a clothing closet.”
“Oh ... I think I like that idea better. Keep it local, keep it free. What a great idea. Then we don’t have to drive it all the way to Belfast.” She sighed. “I hadn’t even thought about how much gas that would take, and I have no money.” She put her hands in her back pockets. “And my car seems to be missing.”
“Dad sold it.”
Her head snapped around. “What? How do you know that?”
“I texted him and asked him. He said it’s gone.”
Fresh tears sprang to her mother’s eyes, and Mrs. Puddy wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “One thing at a time. Let’s get you moved. Then we’ll find you a car.”
Her mom wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and sniffed. “Thank you.”
“Sorry, Mom. Where do you want me to start?”
She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Would you and Mary Sue take some trash bags upstairs? My suitcase is in my closet. Fill it with my unmentionables—except for the pantyhose. You can throw those away—and the clothes I wear around the house. Keep the jeans, T-shirts, and anything else you know I like. Then put all the other clothes into the trash bags.”
“Sure, Mom.” She looked at Mary Sue and then started toward the kitchen cupboard that held the trash bags.
“You can give away all the bedding too. Put that in the trash bags.” She looked at Lauren. “We’ve had a lot of house guests over the years. We have enough bedding to run a hotel.”
