A/N: Please leave me some feedback if you get a chance. Thank you.

Chapter Fourteen: Unspoken

6:12 P.M.

Vernon arrived home to the smell of vanilla cake and burned chicken cacciatore. He let out a deep breath and walked into the kitchen, where his wife was standing at the stove with her back turned away from him.

Vernon put the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter, but kept the bundle of flowers in his hand. At the sound of his footsteps, Molly Vernon turned around. "Oh, hi, sweetie!" She walked up to him and planted a messy kiss on the corner of his mouth. "How was work?"

Vernon forced himself not to wipe away the smear of bright pink lipstick that he knew was there. "It was fine," he said evenly. "I stopped at the store like you asked."

"Oh, thank you." She looked down at the flowers in his hand. "Are these for me?"

Vernon paused. "Well, they're for Virginia." When she didn't respond, he sighed. "You wanted to give her something to cheer her up," he reminded her.

"Oh, right. Of course." Molly plucked the bouquet out of her husband's hands and set them on the counter. "I'll take them over right after dinner."

"That's fine." Vernon sniffed the air. "Did you, uh…did you burn something, honey?"

Molly looked up, and Vernon could see a glob of cake batter clinging to one of her glossy brown curls. "Oh, just a little bit. I got so busy making this cake for Tom and Barbara that I completely forgot about the casserole."

Vernon walked over to the stove, where his wife's chicken cacciatore--or rather, the remains of his wife's chicken cacciatore--were smoldering in their glass dish. "Was that dinner?" he asked needlessly.

"Yes."

Vernon nodded. "Right."

Molly looked up from her cake. "Did you get me the vanilla icing?"

Vernon sighed. "Yes, dear. It's on the table."

"Oh, good. I wanted to take this over there tonight." She rummaged through the sack on the table and pulled out a gallon of milk. "You got milk!" she exclaimed. "We're out, you know."

"So I heard."

Molly pulled out the icing and opened it up, then went over to the utensil drawer and took out a spatula. Vernon watched her scoop out a big glob of icing and smear it on top of the cake. He cleared his throat. "Uh, Molly?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"What are we going to do about dinner?"

Molly looked up. "Oh, are you hungry?"

Vernon managed a tight smile. "Just a bit."

Molly left the spatula sitting on top of the cake and grabbed a large spoon from a plastic container on the counter, then walked over to the casserole dish sitting on the stove. "Can you get us some plates, sweetie?"

Vernon didn't move. "Plates," he echoed.

"Yes." She looked up and smiled sweetly. "For the casserole, silly," she said teasingly.

Vernon nodded. "Oh, yes," he said, reaching up to pull two plates from the cabinet above his head. "Silly me."

6:14 P.M.

Dinner at the Reynolds' house was never a silent affair. Between the twins' academic progress and Danielle's upcoming graduation and her parents' busy jobs, there was always something worth talking about. Allison hardly ever joined in unless someone asked her a question, which they rarely did.

On Friday night, her mother was excited about the sale of an expensive house that had been on the market for over three months with no offers. Her company had shown the house to dozens of prospective buyers, but no one had taken the bait until that afternoon.

"Apparently, they're from Norway. He works for an oil company, and he got transferred here just a few weeks ago."

Jenny held up her fork. "I know some words in Norwegian."

Allison rolled her eyes and went back to her mashed potatoes, which she'd mixed with her corn and chicken.

"Jason and I broke up today."

Allison, along with every other member of her family, looked up at Danielle.

"What happened?" asked her mother.

"I broke up with him," said Danielle, flipping a lock of dark brown hair over one shoulder.

"Why did you do that?"

Danielle shrugged. "I think I need to focus on school more. If I'm going to finish on top, I can't have anything getting in the way." When she finished speaking, she looked up at Allison, who was watching her silently. Danielle set her mouth in a hard line, daring her to say something, and Allison looked away.

"Well, I hate to see that happen," said Mrs. Reynolds. "He was such a nice boy."

Danielle clenched her jaw. "Yeah."

"But I'm glad that you're focusing on your grades. This is the last big push, you know."

Danielle nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Mrs. Reynolds kept talking about the importance of good grades when applying to colleges, but Allison tuned her out. It was the same speech nearly every time, and she practically had it memorized by then, even if it wasn't ever directed towards her. Her parents had pretty much given up on their second oldest daughter ever achieving anything in the way of academic success. When she was in middle school, they'd started sending her to a therapist to address her motivational issues and get her tested for dyslexia and ADHD. Both tests had come up negative, but her parents kept pushing, certain that if they found out what was wrong then she would start living up to the family name. They didn't and she didn't. Eventually, after nearly two years with no signs of improvement, the Reynolds pulled the plug on her daughter's "treatment". They also stopped talking to her about school, stopped asking if she'd done her homework or whether she'd done well on her last test. She knew that they assumed the worst and didn't correct them. It just seemed easier that way, for everyone involved.

"So, you're okay with everything, honey?"

Allison looked up to see her mother watching Danielle intently. "With Jason, I mean? I know it's hard to lose someone you care about, even if it was your decision."

Allison looked over at Danielle, but the older girl didn't even flinch. "I'm fine."

Mrs. Reynolds smiled. "Good." She stood up from the table and pushed her chair in behind her. "Anyone want ice cream?"

All but two people started answering all at once. Allison glanced across the table at her sister, but Danielle wasn't paying attention to anyone. She was staring at her plate with an unreadable expression on her face and pushing corn around with her fork. After a moment, she looked straight up at Allison. Allison waited for Danielle to narrow her eyes or sneer at her, but the angry look never came. After a few seconds, Danielle looked away and asked their mother for a scoop of ice cream.

6:20 P.M.

Claire spent her afternoon in her room reorganizing her closet and tossing out old clothes that she didn't wear anymore. She knew that she needed to be studying for her Calculus test on Monday, especially since she didn't have a chance to turn in her homework that day after leaving her books in her English class during the fire drill. She was already struggling in the class as it was, mainly because she just didn't care, and the steady B she'd been maintaining all semester was going to drop down to a C if she didn't ace that next test.

But the shopping bags were calling her name. She pulled the sweaters out one by one, laying them out on the bed to admire them, then hanging them up in her closet with the price tags facing out. She saved the leather jacket for last, but didn't put it on the bed like she had the others. Instead, she put it on and wore it around her room for a while, straightening the photo frames on her dresser and reorganizing the shoe tree on the floor of her closet.

Her mother arrived home at around 5:30, but Claire didn't go downstairs right away. She knew that her mother was going to find out about the detention at any moment, if she hadn't already, and Claire was more than willing to avoid that conflict for as long as she possibly could. Besides, if she waited long enough, her father would come home and announce that he'd spoken with Principal Geller, who decided that it really wasn't necessary for Claire to be at school so early the next morning after all.

By 6:20, the smell of the lasagna baking in the oven downstairs was strong enough to find its way up to Claire's room on the second floor. She waited impatiently for the sound of her father's car pulling into the driveway, but it never came. Finally, she remembered her father's parting words from earlier that afternoon when she'd called him at his office. "Tell your mother I'll be a little bit late for dinner."

Claire sighed and started down the stairs. She couldn't put it off forever, and she definitely couldn't resist her mother's lasagna. She walked into the living room to find her mother sprinkling fresh parmesan cheese on the lasagna. When Claire entered the room, Evelyn Standish looked up. "I didn't realize you were home."

"I was in my room."

Mrs. Standish nodded and put the bowl of cheese on the counter. Claire waited for her to say something about the detention, but she didn't. "How was work?" Claire asked finally.

"Good. We're already getting some girls shopping for prom. I guess it's never too soon for that."

Claire nodded. Her mother owned a small clothing boutique specializing in one-of-a-kind dresses and formal wear. She had a huge staff that designed a lot of the clothing she sold in the store, but a some of the pieces were designed by Evelyn Standish herself. The boutique was enormously popular with older women, but Mrs. Standish also catered to the younger set and carried formal dresses all throughout the year. While neither of her parents had ever said anything about it, Claire was pretty sure that her mother's business brought in more money than her father's paycheck.

Mrs. Standish looked down at her watch. "I wonder where your father is. I'm starving."
Claire took a deep breath. "He said he'd be late."

Mrs. Standish looked up. "He did?"

Claire nodded. "I talked to him earlier."

Mrs. Standish nodded slowly. "I see."

Claire shifted her jaw uncomfortably. "I guess he had to work late."

"I guess so," said her mother breezily. She pulled a spatula from a container on the counter and started cutting into the lasagna.

Claire watched her mother for a moment, unsure of what she was supposed to say. After a few moments of silence, Mrs. Standish looked up. "So, how was school?"

Claire swallowed nervously. "Fine."

"That's good," said Mrs. Standish. Her tone was neutral, but Claire could tell that she was biting back the anger…which meant that she knew about the detention.

"I got a detention," she said.

Mrs. Standish nodded. "I know. Must have been one hell of a sale if you couldn't wait until school was over."

Claire sighed. "We weren't even doing anything today. I didn't miss anything imp-"

Her mother held up a hand to stop her. "Save it for someone who will believe it…like your father."

Claire felt the anger building. "He already knows."

Mrs. Standish paused, considering this. "That wouldn't have anything to do with why you called him this afternoon, would it?"

Claire just glared at her.

"Is he going to try to get them to drop the detention?"

Claire didn't answer.

Mrs. Standish nodded. "That's typical."

Claire scoffed. "What, Dad trying to help me out? Why is that such a bad thing?"

"Because in the long run he isn't doing you any favors."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Mrs. Standish put down the spatula and looked up at her daughter. "Sooner or later, you're going to find yourself in a situation that you can't get out of, and your father isn't going to be there to help you."

Claire didn't know what to say. "At least he tries."

Her mother's eyes flickered at the implication, but she didn't flinch. "Trying," she said hollowly, looking back down at the spatula. "Yes, he certainly does try, doesn't he?"

Claire didn't answer. After a moment, her mother looked up, her face unreadable. "One week."

"Excuse me?"

"One week," her mother said firmly. "No parties, no trips to the mall. You go to school, but that's it. You are not to leave this-"

"I'm grounded?" Claire asked incredulously. "That's not fair! I may not even have detention if Dad can-"

"I don't care whether your father gets them to drop the detention," said Mrs. Standish, her voice as hard as the granite countertop under her fingers. "You skipped school. That's unacceptable."

Claire let out a sharp, angry chuckle. "You're just mad at Dad for being late for dinner, and you're letting it out on me."

Her mother's face hardened. "Watch it," she warned.

Claire ignored her. "It's not fair. Just because Dad's screwing some other woman doesn't give you the right to ground me!"

When Claire stopped talking, the kitchen fell completely silent. Her mother's eyes never left hers, but the anger reflected in them faded into something like sadness. Claire felt the guilt rising in her chest, but she maintained eye contact, refusing to look away.

Finally, Mrs. Standish cleared her throat. "You're right."

Claire just stared at her.

"Life isn't fair," Mrs. Standish said very quietly.

Claire turned and walked out of the room.

A/N: Thanks for reading.