CHAPTER1
September
Kirsten
Jack flings open the passenger side door as soon as I pull beside the soccer field. He flips his growing bangs from his face and leans forward to adjust his shin guards, which sends his hair back over his eyes once more.
“Wanna know something weird?” he asks.
I survey my fourteen-year-old son, realizing this could veer into territory I’m not prepared for. “Sure.”
“Every time Dad comes to my games, he sets his chair up next to Parker’s mom, Trish, and they talk the whole time.”
I shrug. “So?”
“So, it’s like, they’re not even watching the game.”
“You know Dad’s not into sports—”
“It’s not that,” he interrupts. “They’re both married to other people. It’s weird.”
I shake my head, recalling how high the jealousy factor is at his age. Early teens who were“going together”couldn’t look at another person without a hallway drama unfolding after school.
“Jack, when you’ve been married as long as your dad and I have, you learn to…not look into things too much, you know? We’d make ourselves crazy.”
He climbs out and closes the door. Seconds later, the hatchback opens. “Whatever. And I also think it’s weird that every timeyoucome,shedoesn’t. It’s like she knows he won’t be here, so she sends Beau instead.”
Normally, I might ask how he knows the name of Parker’s parents, but in this case, there’s no need. Everyone knows Beau and Trish Wheaton by name. They’re abnormally attractive and richer than everyone, too.
I climb out of the car and meet Jack around back. He hands me my tote bag before grabbing a lawn chair, then flings the net bag filled with soccer balls and cones over one shoulder.
“You don’t have anything to say to that?” he prods.
I take a sip of my matcha tea and slip the tote bag onto my shoulder. “They probably just switch off every other game like we do.”
“You onlythinkyou do that,” Jack says. “But the schedule gets messed up all the time. Dad came two times in a row—do you remember that? And she was here for both of them. And while it would have beenhisturn the week following,youcame since you’d missed the last one. If they were trading off, it would have flipped to her coming when you do and Beau coming when Dad does. But that didn’t happen.”
I blink, feeling as if I’ve just lost one year of my life listening to this.
“I bet you twenty bucks Beau’s here today instead of Trish.”
My head falls heavily to one side. “You don’thavetwenty bucks, Jack.”
“I won’t need it,” he assures.
I don’t say anything. There’s no need. I trust Greg. Ihaveto; his job as a public accountant has him traveling so often, I’d make myself crazy if I didn’t. Besides, the chances of a woman like Trish cheating on her husband with a guy like my adorably geeky Greg are about zero.
“WhenBeau getshere,” Jack persists as we near the field, “sit by him. Set up your chair and talk to him like Dad talks to Trish.”
“Parents don’t play little games like that, Jack. We don’t have time for it. Besides, how would that make your dad jealous when he’s not even here?”
Jack glances over his shoulder. Since he’s the co-captain of the team and in charge of setting up today, we’re the first ones here besides poor Lenny Walker, who seems to have not found a life outside soccer.
He continues in a hushed tone. “I don’t want you to sit by Beau to make Dad jealous. I want you to sit by Beau so you can ask him if he knows his wife flirts with Dad every chance she gets.”
His eyes are fueled with enough fury that I know he believes what he’s saying. A knot of discomfort wriggles through me.
Jack has a level head, so I can’t dismiss him entirely, but I have to remind myself that he is, in fact, a teenager. He’s in that season when hormones have their gritty claws in every aspect of life. He might not be seeing things through rose-colored glasses, but by no fault of his own, the kidisviewing things from a magnified lens—everything is blown right out of proportion at this age.
