“I don’t care whose night it is.” I grab my backpack and get out of the car, slamming the door behind me before she has a chance to stop me.

I hoof it over to Dad’s house, passing Miss Flora Mae where she sits on her screened-in porch. I shake my head. That’s a whole problem I can’t even think about right now.

I walk right into Dad’s house like it’s my house because it is. This is my house.

“Dad?” I call.

I hear some kind of muttering and catch Dad sweeping aside some papers as I walk into the kitchen.

“Sweet Pea! You’re supposed to be in school!”

I give him a quick recap. “I got in trouble. Mom picked me up. And now she’s giggling with her boyfriend while I’m trying to talk to her, and I just can’t even look at her right now.”

“You got in trouble? Why didn’t you call me?”

I shrug. “The school called Mom.”

“Well, why didn’t she call me?”

My fists clench as I groan. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask her.” It’s like they want to be a family when things are warm and fuzzy and easy, but what about when things are hard and no one is happy?

One single paper falls loose from his teetering stack on the kitchen table and I get to it before he does.

It’s a watercolor painting of a bright-white storefront with a royal-blue sign. The sign reads “DiMarco Hardware and Art Supplies.” The windows are painted for fall with pumpkins and falling leaves.

I can feel my chin quivering. I thought if I just ignored this and hid all his mail that this might not happen. That this would just all go away. “What is this?”

“Sweet Pea, sit down.”

“Tell me what it is,” I demand.

“I need to go back to Connecticut for a little while.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” I throw my hands up. “Just like you never told me about wanting to be a real painter and all those paintings in your third bedroom.”

“That’s just some silly hobby.” He smiles like he thinks I’m young and silly, and that only makes me angrier.

“One you never shared with me!”

“You’re right,” he concedes.

“You hid a whole part of yourself from me. I thought we didn’t have any secrets.”

He chuckles a little like I’m being ridiculous. “Sweet Pea, those paintings are just a thing I do to pass the time. Like I said, just a hobby. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.”

But it feels like he was. Mom had the perfect plan for the perfect identical houses, except Dad’s house had a whole extra room for him to keep his secrets.

“And now you’re leaving me with her. Why can’t I come with you?”

Dad shakes his head. “Sweet Pea, it’s not like that. I’ve got some business to take care of. Things I have to do on my own. Your mother and I have talked about this, and we think it’s best if you stay down here with your friends.”