He folded his arms, presumably so he’d look more foreboding big-brother-ish. “I want to know where you went. We can’t afford to be sneaking out and going behind each other’s backs. Not now, when things are so precarious. You heard Dad.”
“Seriously?Youare yelling atmefor going behind your back? Hypocritical much? Besides, I just wanted ice cream. No crime there.” When in doubt, stick to the truth. Or a little bit of the truth.
“We have ice cream in the kitchen. Again, let me introduce you to doors. You walk out yours. You open the freezer door.”
“I wanted blackberry ice cream, from Baybridge’s. It’s a break-up thing. The popcorn and movie didn’t work, so I thought I’d try the old cliché, a pint of ice cream. Next time, I’ll bring you some of their hot chocolate mix—theirs is the best.” Bribery could work on big brothers too.
He stood up, and the mattress creaked behind him. “Ice cream, huh?” He studied me, and I kept my face innocent—a look I’d practiced in the mirror. You widen your eyes a bit, don’t waver your gaze, keep your lips relaxed, and tilt your head slightly. “All right. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t doing anything we’d all regret.”
I watched him, trying to read in his eyes what he knew and what he suspected. His chiseled face was annoyingly difficult to read. He must practice in the mirror too. “I never regret ice cream,” I told him.
He nearly smiled. I saw it! A twitch of his lips. Like Dad. The old Charles was in there somewhere, buried under the events of the last month. Maybe if I completed Mom’s mission, he’d come back again. Maybe he wouldn’t be so worried all the time. He headed for the door.
“Charles?”
“Yes, Sky?”
“Is Dad okay? I mean, does he tell you more than he tells me?” I hated that we kept so many secrets from one another. Lately, there seemed to be more and more we didn’t say.
“Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
“It won’t be fine until we make it fine.” Good things don’t just happen. Gold doesn’t fall into your lap. Lost mothers don’t randomly reappear. You have todosomething if you want something. And I wanted so much!
He frowned. “There’s a bigger risk of making things worse. Dad said no. Let it go, Sky.” Great—I’d made him suspicious. And he’d confirmed he still agreed with Dad, even when Dad wasn’t anywhere nearby.
I raised my hands as if in surrender. “All I’m going to do is go to sleep.”
Somewhat miraculously, he believed me, wished me good night, and left. Switching off the music, I changed into my PJs and then tucked my lock picks into my socks.
Each of us four kids owned our own set of lock picks. As kids we all had lessons. Mom used to dump a bunch of locks on the dining room table, and no dinner for us until we’d opened them. For extra fun, she’d turn off the lights, which is fine unless you’re trying to pick locks with three older brothers who think it’shilariousto dump a bucket of freshly caught toads onto the table with the locks.
To this day, I have a mild fear of toads.
But locks are no problem.
To pick a lock:
Insert a torsion wrench and press down.
Insert a lock pick.
Twist the wrench, and shimmy the pick back and forth until it catches a pin.
Repeat until all the pins click.
