“Your attorney?” her mother cut in, her expression stunned. “You’ve already seen an attorney?”
“Yes, Marge,” he said, swinging his gaze to his wife, “I have.”
Andie took another step backward. What had happened? she wondered. How could he look at her mother so coldly? Just this morning they had kissed, they had laughed together.
“I thought it would be best,” he continued, “to discuss my rights before I—”
“Best? Rights?” Her mother’s voice rose. “Your right to see your children only on weekends and half the holidays? You thought that would be best? Better than coming home to them every night?”
“That’s enough, Marge! I don’t think it’s appropriate to be having this conversation in front of the children.”
“Don’t you talk to me about appropriate behavior! Don’t you dare!” Her mother jumped to her feet. “We’re supposed to be a family.”
“The marriage just isn’t working for me.” He made a sound of frustration. “I’m not happy. I haven’t been in a long time. Surely you knew.”
Andie wrapped her arms around her middle, apple still clutched in one hand. Not happy? Her mom and dad almost never fought, had almost never disagreed. He’d kissed her mother when he left for work this morning. He did every morning. And every morning her mom kissed him back, then smiled.
A squeak of pain slipped past her lips. Now he wasn’t happy. Now he wanted to leave them.
Why? Had she done something to cause this? Had her brothers?
Tears choked her. She didn’t want her family to break up. She didn’t want her daddy to leave. She loved him more than anything.
“Don’t go, Dad,” Andie begged. “I want us to stay a family.”
He looked at Andie, then the twins. “We’ll still be a family, kids. We’ll always be a family. Where I live won’t change that.”
But it would. It would change everything. “I’ll help out more,” she said quickly, scrambling for a way to make everything all right. “I promise. Us kids, we won’t fight.” She looked pleadingly at her brothers. “Will we?”
“We won’t,” they said in unison, shaking their heads. “We promise to be good.”
“Honey, it’s not—”
“And I’ll baby-sit,” she went on, not wanting to give him the opportunity to speak, afraid of what he might say. “Whenever you ask, so you guys can go out. And I won’t complain about it, I promise. Just give me another chance. I’ll show you how good I can be.”
“You see, Dan?” her mother whispered, sinking back to the chair, the fight seeming to go out of her. “You see what you’re doing to your children?”
He ignored her and crossed to Andie. “Oh, pumpkin.” He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her to his chest. “It’s not you. It’s not your brothers. You guys are perfect.”
He drew back and looked into her eyes. “It’s me and your mom.”
Andie fought tears. She glanced at her brothers again, at the way they huddled together. They always did that, they had each other, they were a team. She had Raven and Julie. She shifted her gaze to her mother, sitting alone, her expression devastated. Her parents used to be a team. They used to have each other.
How could her daddy do this? How could he leave them this way? He was supposed to love them, no matter what.
Andie struggled free of her father’s arms and went to her mother. She knelt by the chair and wrapped her arms around her. For a moment her mother held herself stiffly, then she sagged against Andie, clinging to her.
“Andie, honey,” her father said softly, patiently, “I know you’re upset, but in time you’ll understand.”
“No, I won’t.” She shook her head, her tears spilling over. “You said family was everything. The most important thing. You lied.”
“I didn’t lie. I didn’t know. Things happen. They—” He looked at his wife. “Marge, help me out here.”
She stiffened. “You did this, Dan. You. Don’t ask me to help you make it better now.”
“Fine.” He moved his gaze from Andie to her brothers, then back. “This is the way it’s going to be. I’m sorry, kids, but it just … is. When you’re older, you’ll—”
“Understand?” Andie lifted her gaze to his, heart breaking. She shook her head. “I won’t understand, Dad. And I won’t forgive you. Not ever.”
For a long moment he simply stared at her, then without another word, he turned and walked away.
3
Andie lay on her bed, dry-eyed, completely spent. Moments after her father left, she’d heard his car and had run to the window and watched him go, watching until long after his taillights had been swallowed by the night.
Gone. Just like that.
She rolled onto her side. The house was unnaturally quiet. Still. Her brothers had gone to bed some time ago; her mother was now locked in her bedroom. Usually at this time of night, Andie could hear the muted sound of a late-night talk show coming from the TV in her parents’ room or her mom and dad’s hushed conversation. Once in a while the phone would ring, or the cat would meow outside her bedroom window.
Not tonight. Tonight it was as if the world had come to an end. Nothing was left for her but her own, agonizing thoughts.
Her dad was leaving them.
He didn’t love them anymore, not enough to stay a family, anyway.
Her thoughts, the truth of them, cut like a knife. She sat up, hugging her middle. She glanced at her closed door again, thinking of her brothers, picturing their devastated faces. With a sigh, she climbed off her bed and headed out of her room and down the hall to theirs. She opened their door and peeked inside.
“Are you guys okay?”
“Fine,” Daniel answered angrily, glaring at her. “We’re not babies, you know.”
“I know. But, I … I thought you might want to talk.”
“Andie?” Pete rolled onto his side, facing her. “I don’t get it. Mom and Dad, they were always so … I mean, I thought they were …”
His voice trailed off miserably, and Andie’s heart went out to him. “I thought the same thing.” She sighed. “I guess we were wrong.”
His face pinched up with an effort not to cry. “Are we going to see Dad at all anymore?”
“I don’t know.” She looked away, then back. “He said so.”
“But he’s a liar,” Daniel said, sitting up. “He’s a stinkin’ liar. I don’t care if I ever see him again. And neither does Pete.”
But Pete did care, Andie could tell. His eyes filled with tears, and he turned quickly away. She scowled at her other brother. “Shut up, okay. You don’t know everything.”
“I know more than you.”
“You wish. You’re just a kid.”
He jerked up his chin. “Well, I know something about Dad that you don’t. It’s a secret.”
“Sure you do,” she said sarcastically. “And of course it’s a secret. That way you can’t tell me.”
“I’ll tell