Page 48 of Secrets on Ice

She glances at me. “Don’t defend him.”

“I’m not.”

“It sounds like you are,” she snaps.

“I’m just saying, what they did doesn’t mean every moment was fake,” I tell her. Unless Trevor is an Oscar-winning actor, he can’t fake his affection for her. I still want to pummel the guy.

“How do I know which ones were real?” She looks at me, glassy-eyed.

I don’t have an answer because I’m not sure which was which. She turns the frame over so it’s facedown, and moves on.

We move through the rest of the room faster after that.

Keep.

Trash.

Maybe.

Keep.

Trash.

Burn.

I actually make the fourth box, which makes her laugh again.

The kitchen is next. Cassidy opens cupboards and starts pulling out the things she bought before the marriage. Our grandmother’s serving dishes, her favorite coffee mug, a Dutch oven Mom gave her for Christmas.

“Do you need all this?” I ask her.

“I’m taking what’s mine.” She glares at me.

I nod and don’t ask her again.

She packs a set of expensive knives. I’ve never seen her cook, but I’m not saying anything, this is her journey. By lunchtime, the living room is full of sealed boxes. Cassidy stands in the middle of them with her hands on her hips.

“How did I accumulate this much crap?”

“You’ve been married for years.”

“Don’t remind me.” She groans.

I order pizza while she goes and tackles the bedroom. I give her some time before following. The bedroom door is open, but she’s standing in the hall staring inside.

“You don’t have to do this today.”

“Yes, I do,” she argues.

“We can hire movers.”

“I don’t want strangers packing my underwear.”

Fair enough. “They’ve probably done it a million times.”

She shakes her head and walks inside. The bed is made, which is good to see. A book sits on her nightstand with a bookmark halfway through it. Her robe hangs over the chair. The room still smells faintly like her perfume.

Cassidy sits on the edge of the mattress. “I love this bedroom.”