Page 242 of Five Brothers
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Krisjen
Why can’t I get it right? It’s wrong every time.
And I’ve tried following the recipe several times. Dipping my finger in again, I bring it to my mouth, sucking off the filling. It’s not even close to Mariette’s key lime pie. What the hell is she putting in it?
I pick up the note card she wrote out for me and study it. She gave me a bogus recipe. I know it. I’d keep a secret like that to myself, too.
I add more lime juice and stir.
“Are you listening to me?” Clay asks. “You can’t go through with this.”
She sits at the kitchen island of her mom’s new beach house, watching me cook. I’ve been staying here with Mars and Paisleigh for two days while I search for a more modest place. Not that we had to leave our house, but it was never a home. Not like that little cottage Trace showed us that night. I want them to live somewhere like that.
I swipe the filling with my finger, tasting it again. The nerves in my jaw joints perk up, and I shrug. It’s got more punch at least. I pour in more juice.
“Krisjen!”
I glance up and start stirring again. “He doesn’t love me,” I tell her.
I said it to him several times. He didn’t tell me once.
“Is that what you think?” she snaps. “How could he not love you?”
“You don’t know everything, Clay.” I pour the filling into a pie shell. “I’m not what he needs. I owe him.”
“Krisjen—”
But my phone rings, and I hurriedly drop the bowl back to the counter, thankful for the interruption.
“Hello?” I answer quickly.
“Hey, it’s me,” Bateman says. “The kids never showed up at your grandparents’.”
“What?”
I step away from the pie, checking the clock on the wall. It’s almost seven. They got out of school four hours ago. Mars texted me that they were there.
“Your grandma didn’t think anything of it,” he goes on. “With your parents and such, she figured wires got crossed, but I found Paisleigh’s homework in my car and called to see if I could drop it off. It’s due Monday. That’s when we realized we didn’t know where the kids were.”
I slip my feet into my flip-flops and grab my keys. “Have you called my parents?”
“Both of them,” he replies. “Your dad’s not answering, and your mom said … that they’re in the Bay.”
“What?” I blurt out, feeling Clay’s eyes on me. “Why would—”
“I don’t know,” he says, sounding breathless. “Do you want me to call someone?”
I hook my purse over my head and mouth to Clay, “Gotta go.”
I push through the screen door, jogging down the porch steps. “Not yet,” I tell him. “Keep your phone on you just in case.”
“Got it. Let me know when you have them.”
“Bye.” And I hang up.
Why are the kids in the Bay? And how does my mother know that?