“Okay.” He took the bag from me and scratched his head. “Is she coming back?”

“I hope so. Go on in now.” When they’d all gone back inside, I turned to Henry, who looked as shell-shocked as Keaton. “I have to go.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Sylvia,” he added resolutely. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s not.” I shook my head, fighting tears. “It’s mine. I should have known this would happen.” For a moment, I rested my forehead on my fingertips. “God, what was I thinking?”

“Sylvia—” Henry reached for me, but I pulled my arm away.

“Let me go,” I said, starting toward the house. “I have to find her.”

18. Sylvia

Eighteen

Sylvia

The garage door was open when I reached the house. As soon as I let myself in the back door, I could hear crying upstairs.

I hurried up the steps, her sobs growing louder as I approached her door. If possible, my heart grew even sicker. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I knocked a few times.

“Whit? Can I come in please?”

“No!”

“Honey, please. Let’s talk about this.”

“No! You’ll just lie to me again!”

I put both palms on the door. “I promise you, I will tell you the complete truth, Whitney. Just let me in.”

“I don’t want to live here anymore!”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. Can we talk about it?”

“I’m going to live with Grandma and Grandpa Baxter in Arizona!”

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I might have laughed. Brett’s mother and father were completely hands-off grandparents, other than sending a check on birthdays and Christmas. “Have you spoken to them?”

“Not yet. But I’m packing right now!”

I rested my forehead against the door and closed my eyes, reminding myself what it felt like to be thirteen on a good day—all the confusing emotions, the conflicting thoughts, the yearning to grow up paired with the strange ache to stay a child forever, the unwavering certainty that no one understood you. Whitney was dealing with all that plus the fear of abandonment the divorce had caused. I didn’t blame her for wanting to leave before she could be left. I wanted to reassure her she was never going to lose me. I wanted her to know I was on her side, and I understood her fears.

But first, I needed her to let me in.

“Maybe I could help you pack,” I called through the door.

She didn’t say anything, and a moment later, the door opened. “Fine,” she said, swiping her nose on the back of her hand. Then she spun around and went back to throwing clothes in her suitcase.