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“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I say, because I wouldn’t. And also because I’m glad she wants it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ruthie
Shane parks in his mother’s driveway, then steals a glance at me. I’m already staring at him and don’t pretend to have been doing otherwise. He’s wearing jeans—jeans—and a long-sleeved thermal shirt. Knowing him, he just did it because he wanted to prove to me that he’s had these clothes all along and has chosen not to wear them because he wanted to deprive the world of the sight. I don’t care why he chose to do it, though—I’m happy to reap the rewards. I was also more than happy to let him keep Mrs. Longhorn busy when we dropped by my apartment so I could change. Judging by the speed with which she swung her door open, she probably noticed what I was wearing and had plenty to say about it.
But I got inside before I had to do anything more than shout, “Hello, Mrs. Longhorn!” Shane followed me in, but it took him a few minutes to make it into the living room, so he probably had to tell her another story about urinary incontinence.
As for why we’re here at his mom’s place…
I don’t understand why he brought me here.
Shane’s always been so careful to keep every part of his life in its proper place—and I know this isn’t mine.
I’d like to think this is his way of telling me I’m becoming important to him, but I don’t want to rely on it.
“We’d better go in,” he says with a tap to the wheel that suggests nerves. “The sound’s probably driven her half-crazy by now.”
“You didn’t need to wait for me,” I say, a little annoyed by the supposition that he would have already been here if he hadn’t needed to stop at my place. No, I’m not annoyed. I’m…on edge. I’m going to meet Shane’s mother.
I’ve never met her before, not in all of the years he and Danny have been friends.
My parents weren’t the kind of people who befriended our friends’ parents and baked cookies for them—in fact, we were the kids parents worried about. Because there was always accessible alcohol and drugs. Because no one would notice if some of the stash was taken. Danny never took advantage of that, or saw it as an advantage, but I did for a while when I was a teenager.
Before I have time to fall too deeply into my head, Shane is opening my car door. He looks…human. Deeply, beautifully human in his long-sleeved shirt and coat. His jeans. He holds out a hand I don’t need, and I take it. “Thank you for bringing me here,” I say as I get out and shut the door behind me.
“Don’t be too grateful. You haven’t gone inside yet,” he teases. But I am. I know it means something to him, especially after what he told me yesterday.
It’s an unremarkable house. Large but not new. When I was a kid, I would have thought it looked like a castle, with the single turret.
“You grew up here?”
He puts an arm around me, surprising me. “I did. So obviously there’ll be tour buses coming around here someday. I keep trying to emotionally prepare my mother for that.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.” He gives me a half smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, and I see it again. He’s nervous. He doesn’t know what he’s going to find in there. I think back on all the years I’ve known Shane. For so much of that time he was holding this worry in his chest, and I never saw a hint of it.
We make it to the door, and he unweaves his arm from me. But it opens a second before he can knock. His mother has green eyes and stark white hair cut in a short pixie style. She’s dressed in pajamas, although not pajamas that are in your face about their nighttime status, like the ones I got for Danny.
“Oh, honey.” She drops a hand to her flannel pants. “I didn’t know you were bringing a friend. I would have changed.”
“It’s okay,” I insist, stepping forward. “I wear pajama pants to school drop-off all the time. They’re comfortable.”
And I’m always late.
She smiles at me, then squints and angles her head. “You’re Ruthie, aren’t you? Danny’s sister.”
I’m taken aback.
“Yes, but how did you—”
The alarm bleeps loudly enough to wake the dead, and Mrs. Royce puts her hands over her ears and shakes her head. “Honestly. Did you hide the ladder, Shane?”
“I can’t hear you,” he says, steering me inside. I’m pretty sure he’s lying. His mother follows us in and shuts the door behind us.
Shane is already following the source of the sound like a bloodhound. The determination with which he approaches every task makes me smile, especially since he just dropped everything on a Saturday morning so he could go to his mother’s house and change the fire alarm battery.
