Page 143 of These Summer Storms

“When?”

The rest of them followed the volley, riveted.

“It’s time to turn on the lights, Mom. You want to be in control? Sodo I. Here’s where it begins. We tell the truth. Together.” Emily looked to Claudia on the couch, her tablet cast aside, wound like a spring, ready to fight for her wife. Emily returned her attention to the family and took a deep breath. “So, weird thing…Mike Haskins is my father.”

The house went silent, nothing but the sound of the storm outside and the pounding of hearts within.

And then everything exploded.

“Oh my god,” Alice said.

“What thefuck?” Sam.

Greta was frozen, eyes wide, staring at their mother. “What?”

Claudia came off the couch and headed for Emily.

“Em…” Alice reached for her sister. Grabbed her hand across the table, tighter than she should. “Jesus. Are you—what?” She looked to Elisabeth. “Is that true?”

“It is,” Elisabeth said, stiffly, like a stick of premium-grade dynamite hadn’t just been lobbed into the family tree. “Though I don’t see why it’s anyone’s business but mine.”

“I can see how it would beEmily’s,” Sam retorted. “Jesus, Em.”

Emily shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ve known for a while.”

Alice’s mind raced, a dozen pieces from the last week clicking into place. Emily’s insistence that Mike attend the funeral, her defense of Twyla, her fascination with Franklin’s possible infidelities, Mike’s invitation to Alice—the inclusion of Emily.

The conversation Alice overheard in the greenhouse. Mike’s words.

He was giving her a gift. And me, too.

And then Mike’s story the night before. Franklin’s call, out of the blue.

Something else, just out of reach. Like the corner of a watercolor that wasn’t quite connected to the rest. Bad underpainting.

“This is true?” Greta asked, the question barely there. “Mom?”

“I already said it was true.” That was it. Nothing more. No explanation. And Alice realized that it was entirely possible that was the last she’d ever say on the matter.

Some things stay secret.

“Holyyyy shit.” Sam, ever eloquent. But right, honestly.

Alice squeezed Emily’s hand again. “How are you so…chill?”

Emily smiled and met Alice’s gaze. Her eyes—so blue—a perfect match to Elisabeth’s—gleaming with tears. She turned her hand over in Alice’s, her grip tight enough to hurt. “Practice, I guess.”

Emily, the fun one. The unserious one. The delight.

As unraveled as the rest of them.

Claudia was hovering behind Emily’s chair by then, hands on Emily’s shoulders, worry etched on her face. Alice nodded to her sister-in-law.

“Okay,” Claudia said. “We’re done here.”

“It’s okay,” Emily said, quiet. Focused.

“It absolutely isn’t,” her wife replied. “We’re done, and I think we should go home.”

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