Page 4 of The Lookback

She’s often overlooked as the pretty one, but she has a surprising amount of insight in some areas, just like her mother. I like to think that Maren’s the one who surprises you, like a sneak attack. I paste a smile on my face. “I’ll be sure to let you know if Tommy ever does make it out to Manila. You can count on that.”

“Why haven’t you invited us in?” Amanda asks. “We’ve been standing here like traveling Bible salesmen for five minutes.” She’s peering around my shoulder now.

Curse her and her stupid bloodhound instincts.

I shake my head. “I was going through some things and the house is a terrible mess.”

Jed, my black and white potbelly pig bumps at my leg, opening the door just a hair wider.

“It looks fine to me.” Emery peers around my shoulder. “Except for that huge painting? I’ve never seen it before. Is it new?”

I grit my teeth. “It was in storage. I thought I’d try it out.”

“Ooh, I want to see it.” Amanda tries to push past me, inadvertently stepping on Jed’s foot when I refuse to budge.

Jed starts howling like, well, like a stuck pig, and Amanda’s scowl deepens. “Why won’t you let us in? What’s going on?”

“Just give me a few days,” I say. “I’ll explain what’s going on then.”

Amanda folds her arms and huffs. “Why? Are you sure you won’t bedeadin a few days? Skipping town again, are you?”

“I promised I’d never do anything like that again.” I still refuse to regret it, but that decision definitely caused a major breach of trust I’m still paying for today. “I’m not doing anything bad. I just need a little space.” I can’t help muttering, “Something that seems to be in short supply around here.”

Amanda backs up, gesturing to the girls. “Let’s be respectful of her wishes and just go.” Her sigh is beleaguered, but it sounds like defeat. Thank goodness.

I’m locking the door with an exaggerated sigh of my own when Jed heads for the fridge, clearly wanting treat compensation since I didn’t let him play with the girls. I’m rummaging around looking for a plum—I’m almost sure I had one left—when I hear a strange rustling on the back porch.

Before I even realize what’s happened, Amanda bursts through my back door and shouts, “Aha! I guess you forgot that I have the back door key.” It only takes her a few seconds to blink and shuffle forward to let the girls in before her jaw drops. “What in the world is going on with your house?” She spins around on Emery. “A painting? That’s all you noticed?”

“You just can’t let anything go.” I want to kick her, but the person who really deserves a kick is me. The back door. It’s such a basic move. I should have seen it coming and done the deadbolt.

“You’re being so weird,” Maren says. “Almost as weird as Mom.”

Emery’s pointing, her eyebrows raised. “I told you the painting was of the Eiffel Tower, and look! It’s huge!”

The painting now hanging over the sofa fills half the wall. I had no idea it would be that large when I ordered it, which is really at the heart of the problem with all internet ordering. Unfortunately, Manila is still a complete dead zone for home decor. Unless you want a t-shirt that says, “I run like the Wind(ed),” or a sign for your laundry room that says, “Please excuse the noise and mess. The kids are making happy memories,” you’re pretty much out of luck. That’s all the True Value carries.

“The wooden giraffe is stranger than the painting,” Maren says. “And what’s up with the huge gourd vase things?” She’s grimacing and turning around slowly. She has never looked more like her mother in her entire life.

“Is that atigerrug under the coffee table?” Amanda can’t decide whether to laugh or cry, and I’m not sure which would be worse.

“I’m old,” I say. “I like to change things around now and again. I only have a little time to enjoy myself before I die.”

“It looks like Pier One threw up in here,” Amanda says. “And not in a good way.”

“Do people ever use puke analogies to describe something good?” I wish I could shoo them out, but now I’m pretty much stuck with them attacking everything.

“Is that a plaid blanket?” Maren starts for the family room, her hand outstretched.

This is only going to get worse. “I can tell you don’t like my new decor, but it’s not really?—”

“This has something to do with Tommy, doesn’t it?” Emery’s question is soft, as if she wanted to ask it at a level that’s just for my ears.

It freezes me.

I’ve spent a lifetime trying to be different from my parents. I don’t lie about everything, especially to people who matter. Except for the whole dying thing, I guess. But that was really important.

And so is this.

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