Chapter 5

On Sunday afternoon, Lily came into the kitchen holding the glossy yellow flyer I had left on the counter since Wednesday.

"Dad?" she asked.

Jake was sitting at the island, tapping overtime numbers into his tablet. "What's up, bug?"

Lily placed the paper on the counter, using both palms to slide it toward his elbow. "Miss Adams said the regional summer art studio is doing enrollment for July. They teach watercolor painting and clay."

She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide with pure, careful hope. "Can I go?"

Jake picked up the flyer. He skimmed right past the pictures of kids throwing clay on pottery wheels and looked at the black text at the bottom: Registration Fee: $650.00.

He let out a quiet breath and folded the brochure back in half.

"Not this year, sweetheart," he said, reaching out to pat her shoulder. "Money's pretty tight right now with the truck brakes needing work and property taxes due. Maybe next summer, okay?"

I was standing at the sink rinsing cutting boards. The water ran over my hands, scalding hot, but I didn't move.

I waited for Lily to cry or plead. But she didn't do either.

She looked at the folded paper in his hand, took it back, and held it against her chest.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I still have my markers."

She took two steps toward the stairs, then stopped and turned around. "Can I keep the paper? Maybe they do it next summer too."

"Sure you can, bug," Jake said with an easy smile, already looking back down at his screen.

Lily walked up the stairs, her small footsteps fading down the hallway.

Two days later, I sat at our desk in the den to pay the quarterly water bill. When I logged into our joint checking account, an automated debit notification popped up at the top of the ledger:

TRANSACTION CLEARED: MIDWEST ELITE BASEBALL ACADEMY - $1,850.00

MEMO: TYLER V. - SUMMER HIGH SCHOOL TRAVEL SHOWCASE TEAM

I sat frozen in the swivel chair, staring at the numbers until the screen burned into my retinas.

One thousand, eight hundred and fifty dollars. Debited on Monday morning. The exact day after he told our daughter that six hundred dollars was impossible.

When Jake walked through the door that evening, I had the monitor turned directly toward the entryway. He stopped, his eyes catching the glowing ledger entry.

"You said we couldn't afford Lily's camp," I said. My voice was stripped of anger, stripped of emotion - just an empty, barren flatline. "Why can you always find a way when it's Tyler?"

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice instantly rising in defensive irritation.

"Tyler was scouted for the premier travel league, Emily! If he doesn't play this circuit, he loses his shot at making the varsity roster as a sophomore. This is about his future. It's different. He needs this chance."

"Lily needs to believe she gets chances too," I said.

"Lily has time, Em," Jake snapped. "We can find her something closer to home, or do it next year. Tyler can't miss this one."

"I'm not comparing camps, Jake," I said, looking right through him. "I'm comparing how you treat your children."

"You're twisting this into something toxic," he said, turning around and snatching his keys off the wall hook.

"Rachel called while I was on my way home - Tyler left his customized catcher's mitt at her place and he needs it for tomorrow's scrimmage in Grand Rapids. I have to drive it out to him. I'll be back late. Don't wait up."

I didn't answer. I didn't tell him to stay.

The front door slammed. The heavy diesel roar of his truck shook the living room windows as he backed out of the driveway and sped down the road.

Silence settled over the house.

I stood up.

I walked up the stairs into our bedroom. From the top shelf of the closet, I pulled down two canvas duffel bags.

I didn't pack everything. I didn't touch our wedding album, the winter coats, or the decorative china.

I packed only what was essential: our birth certificates, passports, social security cards, immunization records, checkbooks, three changes of clothes for Lily, four for myself, and her current school readers. I left the dresser drawers half-open. I left my jewelry on the tray.

I walked into Lily's bedroom.

She was sitting on the carpet, coloring in an activity book. She looked up at the bags in my hands.

"Are we sleeping at Grandma's?" she asked.

"Yes, baby," I said, kneeling down beside her.

She looked at her bed, then into my eyes. "Can I bring Bunny?"

"Of course you can," I said, tucking her curls behind her ears. "Go grab him."

She hurried to her pillow, scooped the grey plush rabbit into both arms, and held him tight against her chest. I zipped the second duffel shut and slung the strap over my shoulder.

I dropped the half-zipped toiletry bag right onto the hall rug, grabbed Lily's small hand, and moved toward the stairs.

"Come on, sweetie. Shoes on. Fast."

We rushed down the wooden steps. On the third stair from the bottom, the worn stuffed rabbit slipped from Lily's grip, tumbling onto the landing runner.

Lily gasped, her hand reaching back.

I dropped my bag, dropped to one knee, scooped Bunny off the floor in one motion, and shoved him firmly into Lily's chest.

"I've got him," I whispered, pulling her against me for one second. "Hold him tight."

I grabbed the duffel strap, pushed open the heavy front door, and ran into the cool evening air.

I bundled Lily into the backseat of my sedan, buckled her seat belt with shaking fingers, and threw the bags into the trunk. I climbed behind the steering wheel and turned the key.

The engine fired up.

I pulled out of the driveway, the tires throwing loose gravel against the wheel wells as I reached the end of our quiet street. Rain had just begun to blur the windshield.

My phone lit up in the cup holder.

Jake: "Tyler's set for tomorrow. Heading home now. Love you."

Headlights swept across the intersection. Jake's truck.

For one suspended second, I saw his silhouette through the rain-streaked glass. He was looking straight ahead.

He didn't see me. He didn't see Lily curled around Bunny in the backseat.

He didn't know he was driving home to an empty house.

I kept going.