Page 94 of Exposed

Trippy reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. “Don’t listen to them. You’ll be fine. It’s battery operated.”

King says his goodbyes. “We’ll be gone by the time you get back. Call me on your way home, Lake, and come back soon.”

“We didn’t even get to go to the parks in Orlando this time,” Willa complains.

Lake gets her purse and Trippy’s things. “Next time.”

Willa’s tween sarcasm shines bright. “You mean the next time Dad ends up on the news for campaign fraud?”

Laken frowns. “You’re not supposed to watch the news.”

“So I can have every social media app, but I can’t watch the news?”

King gives his niece a hug. “She’s old enough to handle the news.”

“I give up, and your uncle is no help,” Laken says and gives her brother a hug. “Thanks for that.”

“I’ll talk to you soon. Be careful driving home,” King says.

Trippy, Laken, and Willa make it slowly out the front door, and King goes straight to the kitchen.

“You want another drink?” he asks.

“No. I’ve had plenty.” I glance around at the house that looks like it hasn’t changed since it was built before King was born. “I have to say, this isn’t what I imagined your home to look like.”

King starts to carry dirty dishes to the kitchen. “I can’t argue that.”

I walk to the living room to do what I wanted to do since we got here. Study the artifacts that line bookcases, tables, and credenzas. The pictures are endless and they go back to when King was a boy.

It’s like watching a still-life movie. If I could flip through them fast enough, they’d act out a scene.

Vacations. Sports. Family time.

Laken played the violin, and King played the drums. Graduations and pictures of King in his Army uniforms and during his time as a cadet.

West Point.

Another surprise about Kingston Jennings.

I move through the room that looks nothing like King and everything like Trippy. The next thing I know, I’ve peeked into Laken’s old bedroom, a guest room that is a teenage girl explosion, and stop when I reach the end of the hall.

Finally.

A space that looks exactly like the man who has forced himself into my life. I should ask if I can look around, but he didn’t exactly ask before pushing me back into the Carter fold that I had to fight to get out of in the first place.

The wall in back of the bed is brick from top to bottom. But it’s painted a gray so dark, it hints at black in its own shadows. The bed is rustic and stained dark. The rest of the room is varying shades of taupe with dark greens mixed in. The bedding matches even though it’s an unmade mess.

There’s a pile of unfolded clean clothes tossed on the end ofthe bed and a door to the backyard leads to the pool with a cabana.

This space makes my imagination go wild. Not that I need to use my imagination. I have lived to experience the real thing when it comes to King.

Being in here is like a different dimension from the rest of the house. Like I’ve entered another space.

King’s space.

It shows me who he is and that his time is scarce. Either that or he just doesn’t care, so it’s easy for me to go directly to the only framed picture in this room. It sits on his dresser that’s dotted with random papers, receipts, and unopened mail.

This picture tells a whole different story than the rest in the house.

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