His face did something complicated.
"You heard me."
My husband set his thermos and suitcase on the roof of the car as if he needed both hands to think.
"Okay, so, funny thing," he started. "There's a... okay, look, I can explain, but I'd rather do that in the kitchen, with maybe a glass of..."
"David."
"Or without a glass of anything, that's also fine."
I held out my palm. He finally dropped the keys into it as if they were on fire.
"You heard me."
My hand was shaking again.
I walked around to the back of the car. My husband trailed behind me, making small, wounded noises.
"Willow, sweetheart, whatever you're picturing right now, I promise it's..."
"Ava told the whole other family what's in here," I explained, cutting him off again.
"Ava? She what?"
My husband trailed behind me.
"Rachel called me this morning. Our daughter apparently gave a full inventory to Josephine over apple slices."
David groaned, actually groaned, and dragged both hands down his face.
"Oh, no. No, no, no."
"'Oh, no' is not the reaction of an innocent man, David."
"Yeah, it's the reaction of a man whose surprise just got flattened by a seven-year-old!"
I ignored him and pressed the button. The trunk yawned open.
And there it was.
David groaned.
A platinum blonde wig, curled and shining under the garage light. A sequined dress folded neatly beside it, catching every bulb on the porch. Sunglasses the size of saucers. A tube of red lipstick rolling gently against the spare tire. Tucked beneath the wig was a printed sheet of lyrics, yellow highlighter all over it.
I stared and blinked. Then, I stared some more. My brain tried to make a picture and kept failing.
David covered his face with both hands.
