She twirled it between her fingers. “Dad helped me make it while you were away on that business trip to San Francisco.”
I felt my father step into the hall behind me, and my mother’s softer footsteps as she caught up. None of them looked ashamed. None of them looked like they’d been caught doing something wrong.
Kristen’s eyes gleamed. “Leaving one of your keys at Mom and Dad’s place was your fatal mistake.”
She said it like she’d outsmarted me, like she’d cracked a code.
“I figured it was basically a sign,” she continued, “saying family can use it freely. So I happily took you up on it.”
My father brushed past me into the room, as comfortable as if he’d paid for the furniture. He sat down on the leather chair and crossed one leg over the other, the posture of a man who believed he was still in charge.
“Don’t make such a scary face,” he said casually. “It’s basic risk management for parents to have a spare key to their daughter’s house. What if you collapsed? What if there was a fire? We’re always worried about you.”
Worried.
The word was almost funny.