All The Summers Between Us | TSITP

Fault Lines.

Morning crawled in brittle and too bright. The house smelled like ocean salt and stale tequila, the kind of scent that clung to curtains and memories.

Somewhere downstairs, an ice machine clattered; somewhere outside, gulls argued over nothing.

On the carpet of the girls' room, Belly slept curled against a throw pillow, mascara ghosted beneath her eyes, last night's shirt half-twisted around her. The door cracked open.

"Belly." Laurel's voice was tight, the syllables clipped. "Belly, wake up. Wake up!"

She knelt and tapped her shoulder. Belly jerked, blinking up through a tangle of hair. "Mom? What are you... what are you doing here?"

Laurel straightened, lines of exhaustion and fury etched at her mouth. "You don't remember? You asked me to come." Her jaw flexed. "No—actually, you left me a message begging me to come. And then you didn't answer when I called back. I kept trying you all night."

Belly pushed up to sit, shame and confusion flushing her face. "I'm sorry. I... I fell asleep."

Laurel let out a humourless scoff, scanning the room—the tipsy cluster of paper cups on the desk, a feathered boa draped over a chair, a disposable camera flashing its last frame on the dresser. She inhaled once, hard. "Get up, Belly. We're leaving."

"No, no, no—no, we can't." Belly's voice frayed. "You don't understand."

Laurel's eyes snapped to hers. "No. I don't understand. You've been lying to me for days."

"Mom, Jeremiah and Conrad—" Belly scrambled to her feet. "They—they needed my help and I didn't know how to tell you."

"There is no excuse." Laurel's tone was iron. "None. I really hope last night was worth it, because I am so done with you."

"Mom, we didn't come here to party—it just happened." Belly's words tumbled, desperate. "We—we came here... we came here for Susannah."

"Stop it!" Laurel's voice cracked like a whip. "I can't stand to hear you use her as an excuse one more time."

Belly recoiled as if slapped already, tears brightening. "You can't stand me period," she fired back, voice wobbling. "Ever since her funeral, you have been so angry with me!"

Laurel's chin lifted, brittle poise holding by a thread. "What do you want me to say? That you embarrassed me? That you made that day all about you when it was supposed to be about Susannah?"

"Yes!" Belly's breath hitched. "Yes! I know you hate me for it, okay? But you will never hate me as much as I hate myself."

"Come on." Laurel's voice softened just enough to bend, not break. "We are not doing this here. Let's go."

"I am not going anywhere." The words landed small and stubborn. Belly's shoulders shook; the first tear slipped free.

Laurel stepped in, reached for her wrist—guiding, not gentle. "Belly."

"No!" Belly yanked back. The dam burst. "The only mistake I made was thinking that you could help." Her voice rose, rough-edged with grief. "Susannah would never forgive you for abandoning her boys. She would never even believe—"

The crack of Laurel's palm meeting Belly's cheek split the room in two.

Silence dropped like a curtain. The gulls went quiet. Even the house seemed to hold its breath.

Belly stared, stunned, colour flooding her face where Laurel's handprint bloomed. Laurel's eyes widened as if she, too, had just woken up in a nightmare.

Belly's throat worked once. She turned, hand on the doorknob, and walked out before either of them could say another word.

The hallway was a tunnel of morning light and echoes. Doors opened—one, then another.

Jeremiah stepped out first, hair mussed, T-shirt wrinkled, worry already on his face. Belly stopped, turned to him, eyes glassy.

Across the hall, Conrad's door swung wider. He stood there, pale and quiet, reading the moment in a heartbeat. Lydia hovered just behind his shoulder, swallowed in a sweatshirt that wasn't hers, last night's mascara faint under her eyes, one hand curled in the hem like she needed something to hold.

Belly's gaze flicked from Jeremiah to Conrad, caught briefly on Lydia, then slid back to Jeremiah again—an apology, a plea, a warning, all trapped in a single look.

Behind her, Laurel appeared at the bedroom threshold, breath unsteady, fingers trembling where they hovered uselessly at her side.

No one spoke. The house—empty of furniture but overfull with all the things they hadn't said—did the talking for them.