Page 91 of How to Walk Away

“What, then?”

Kit stretched up taller. “We are about to blow your mind.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Mom and me.”

“Since when are you and Mom a ‘we’?”

Kitty’s expression darkened. “It’s a fragile, don’t-ask-don’t-tell truce.”

I frowned. How was that possible?

“Never underestimate Linda’s ability to compartmentalize,” Kit said. “Or mine, either.”

“So you’re not talking about anything?”

“Nothing but you.”

“Okay.”

“She hates everything about how I look, though.”

“Of course she does.”

“Especially the tattoos.”

I gave Kit a look.Of course she does.

“It was her idea, actually. This whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

Kit pretended to blow a trumpet. “Announcing the greatest birthday news ever!” she announced. “We are giving you a night out.”

“A night out?”

Kit dropped her voice back to normal. “Mom thought you might like to have spaghetti and cake at home.”

Our traditional birthday dinner. Spaghetti and cake. The thought of it made me sad. “I don’t want to go home.”

“I know.” Kitty looked pleased with herself. “I told her that! And Dad backed me up.”

“I don’t have to go to Mom’s?”

“No. Better.”

“Where?”

Kit did a little shimmy. “The lake.”

“The lake? Our lake?”

She clapped.

But it was no good. “I can’t go to the lake,” I said. It was my grandparents’ old fishing cabin. Rustic, to say the least. Hardly wheelchair accessible.

“You can! It’s all set up!”

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