“It’s Sophie.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
I sighed.
“She’s eighteen. She’s been moody lately.”
Lola watched me carefully.
“And Adrian?”
“What about him?”
She hesitated.
“Nothing.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve seemed nervous for months.”
“I’m tired.”
“Claire.”
I looked toward the airplane window.
“Adrian provides for us.”
Lola said nothing.
“He pays the mortgage. Handles the big financial stuff.”
Still nothing.
“He and Sophie just don’t get along.”
I said it like something I had rehearsed enough times to stop questioning.
Lola finally nodded.
“Okay.”
But neither of us believed me.
I HAD SPENT YEARS EXPLAINING ADRIAN AWAY
On the drive from the airport, old memories kept surfacing.
Adrian at dinner, looking Sophie up and down.
“That sweater makes her look homeless.”
I would say:
I CAME HOME FROM A BUSINESS TRIP AND FOUND MY 18-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER GONE—MY HUSBAND CALMLY SAID, “I THREW HER OUT.” ONE YEAR LATER, SHE RETURNED WITH A NEWBORN AND PROOF THAT DESTROYED EVERY LIE I’D BELIEVED
The seatbelt light clicked on above me as our flight descended toward Bellmere.
