sixteen

Thursday, Day 3—after the shooting

The next morning Amanda swung by in her rental car to see how I was doing. “I’ll drop Anya off at school and take you to the store. Chad mentioned that you shouldn’t be driving. At least, not yet. Mom’s still in bed, so we can grab breakfast at a drive-through if you two want.”

Chad? Oh, she meant Detweiler! I’d have to become accustomed to people using his real first name!

“The dog comes with.” I nodded at Gracie.

“No problem. I love dogs. I almost married two of them.”

The offer of a breakfast burrito from McDonald’s thrilled Anya, even if going to school didn’t. She suffered from a bad case of “I’m-ready-for-school-to-be-out”-itis. I struggled with a bad bout of morning sickness. I buried my nose in a cup of hot tea and nibbled on an English muffin so my stomach wouldn’t misbehave. Amanda ordered a big breakfast sandwich that she ate with one hand while Gracie drooled over her shoulder.

Following our instructions, my sister drove to CALA. As we turned into the circular drive, Amanda struggled not to gawp at the palatial administration building, class buildings, and expansive grounds. “This is some school,” she whistled.

“Sure is. Have a good time,” I told my daughter as I kissed her goodbye.

“Right,” Anya snarled. “Like taking algebra and French are loads of fun, Mom.”

“Do her moods always swing from high to low so quickly?” Amanda asked as Anya walked toward the building.

“Nope. Usually they cycle faster. Any leads on finding a place where you and Mom can both live? Does she realize she’s moving here?”

“I told her last night. She started to have a cow, but I reminded her that your nice neighbor, Mr. Haversham, showed a real interest in her, and then I pointed out that a long-distance romance might be hard on both of them.”

“You weasel, you. Leighton will have to peel Mom off like chipped nail polish.”

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it. Listen. To deal with Mom, I’ve become a crackerjack liar and a nearly professional-quality manipulator. Otherwise, I’d be battling her every day, all day. With any luck, I’ll find a place that’s move-in ready before your mother-in-law is released from the hospital. That or I’ll have to rent one of those short-term, executive-stay hotel suites.”

“Let me know how I can help you. If I can.”

“Huh. I always thought you were overly sensitive about her criticism, but after watching her lay into you yesterday, I’ve been forced to revise my opinion. You’re right. Our mother really, really doesn’t like you!”

My sister came into the store and wandered around while I went through the process of opening our door for another day of retail selling. The craft gene—a variation on the XX chromosome that’s yet to be mapped—skipped a generation with my sister Amanda. Nothing in the place particularly appealed to her, so she gave me a hug and left for an appointment with a real estate agent.

Horace walked in with Dodie, settled her in the big black office chair behind her desk, and gestured to me for a private powwow. “Rebekkah will bring her lunch. We have another doctor’s appointment at one.”

“Horace, I am so sorry. I mean, after talking with her yesterday …” I stopped. What could I say? I couldn’t find the right words. “Look, whatever I can do for you, I will. The baby isn’t due until January, but I can work until I go into labor if that will help.”

His face crumpled as he said, “That won’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she doesn’t have that long.”