Chapters (59)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Praise
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- January
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- February
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- March
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- April
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- May
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- June
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- July
- Forty-One
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Author’s Note
- Ladies of the House - Reader’s Guide
- Questions For Discussion
- Excerpt
After I’d gone through it twice, we walked north on New Hampshire toward home. Cricket ordered curry takeout from her phone, and Wallis had me narrate the story yet again. When I was finished, she said sadly, “I should’ve been able to see the writing on the wall.”
Cricket complained of tight shoes and aching feet, so we hailed a cab. I had one final thought for my sister before we got in. “His behavior isn’t reflective of you, Wallis. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”
She gave me a grateful look and squeezed my hand. But in the back of my mind were thoughts of my father, and the checks he wrote, and the secret I still couldn’t bear to tell.
After Cricket had disposed of the take-out containers, she and Wallis both retired to bed. I was still on their couch with a handful of Thin Mints and the local news on mute, not sleepy in the slightest, not ready to go down to my empty apartment, to give up the night that was supposed to be about a better future. It’s never stupid to hope, Cricket had said. I knew exactly who I wanted to talk to. The phone rang only once before he picked up.
“Hi, there,” Atlas said.
I tucked a knee beneath my chin. “Hi,” I said.
“What are you doing?” he asked at the same moment I said, “Are you busy?”
We laughed. “I was trying to write,” he said.
“What are you working on?”
“I’m supposed to be writing this piece on very public social media mistakes by government employees,” he said, “but I fell down a YouTube rabbit hole. I started on White House dot gov and then all of a sudden I was watching videos of people singing show tunes in cow suits.”
“You know that’s my guilty pleasure, Atlas. Send that link over right now.” He laughed, and I could imagine it was like old times. Just him and me and a late-night phone call. And the elephant. Best address it, so we all could move forward. “I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your texts. I’ve been...missing.”
“I knew where you were,” he replied after a second. “You weren’t AWOL. You were just angry with me.”
“With you?” That I didn’t expect. “No, not with you.”
“No?” He sounded relieved. “Your silence—I thought you were furious I’d told you about—”
“Atlas,” I said, stopping him. “I’m glad you told me. If I had to know, I mean, I’m happy I heard it from you.” It was true. And it did feel good to have someone supportive with whom I could discuss it. Keeping it to myself was quickly becoming exhausting.