Page 20 of The Atonement
“Mhm. Now, finish eating and run upstairs and tell your brothers to get their bags ready.”
She shoved the last few bites of her fruit into her mouth and placed the bowl in the sink, obviously in just as much of a hurry as I was to get out of there.
As she jogged out of the room, she nearly ran into my mother, who jumped back with a start and gasped. “Whoa, where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Sorry, Grandma,” Maisy said, not bothering to explain where she was going as she jogged up the stairs.
“What was that—”
“Where is Peter?” I cut her off, placing my glass of water down.
“What? Oh, oh, right. He left.”
“He left?” I folded my arms across my chest. “When?”
“Well, I didn’t let him inside, and he left. I didn’t check the time, for goodness’ sake.”
“And you didn’t think to call and tell me that?” I huffed, my eyes traveling the room as disbelief swam through me. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I could’ve gotten into an accident. I could’ve gotten a speeding ticket—”
“Well, I didn’t ask you to speed over here.” Her indignant stare pierced me.
“I thought my children were in danger.” My heart pounded in my ears.
“Why on earth would you think that? I was with them. It was their father at the door, not the bogeyman.” She paused, studying me. “Is… Is Peter trying to hurt you? Has he done something to hurt the children?” She covered her agape mouth with long, spindly fingers.
“I—um, well, no. Not exactly. It’s…it’s complicated. I’m worried…” I lowered my voice, moving toward her in an effort to keep the kids from overhearing this part in particular. “I’m worried he’ll try to take the kids from me if he can get to them.”
“Why would he do that?” She didn’t look convinced.
“To hurt me,” I admitted. It was the first honest thing I’d said to my mother in so long. “He really wants to hurt me, Mom. And the kids are the best way to do that.”
She was quiet for a long while, her eyes dancing between mine. She opened her mouth, as if prepared to say something, then closed it again. Finally, she said, “Sweetheart, Peter loves you. He’s always loved—”
“No.” I shut her down. I’d bared my soul to her, toldher something I’d never told anyone else. I needed her to understand. To believe me. To trust me. But she wouldn’t. Of course, she wouldn’t. This was the same mother who’d berated me my entire life, made me question my own judgments and opinions, and even taken away my right to form opinions or make decisions for as long as she could. Why would I think she’d be any different now? “No. Just stop, Mom, okay? I appreciate you letting us stay here, but this was a mistake. We’re going to go—”
“Oh, Ainsley, don’t be like that—”
“It’s fine.” I started toward the stairs, but she stepped in front of me. Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Panic gripped my organs.
“Ms. Adele?”
I heard his voice through the door—unsure whether to be relieved or even more worried. Why was he back so soon? What did he want?
Mom eyed me, then moved away, crossing the room and opening the door. “Matt? Did you decide on some sangria after all?”
He was out of breath, his forehead gleaming with sweat. “Sorry, no. I don’t mean to bother you again.” He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was watching me over her shoulder. “Ainsley, is this your car out in the driveway?”
“Yes. Why?” I moved toward the door.
He winced, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “You’ve got a flat tire.”
“What?” My heart thudded in my chest. “How?”
“I was getting ready to leave when I noticed it. It looks like you hit a nail.” He stepped back, clearing a path for me to see for myself. I peered out the door and into the driveway. Sure enough, my front tire was flat and resting on the rim. “I can fix it if you want. Do you have a spare?”
“In the trunk. I…” I tried to think back. Had I hit something on the way over? I was in such a rush it was entirely possible.
“Do you have the keys to pop your trunk? I’m happy to change it for you.”
