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“Don’t treat me like I’m dumb. You cry in Caroline’s car, you tell me out of the blue you need all new clothes that cover you up like a tent, something’s going on.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened at school?”
“Nothing happened.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t give a shit if you believe me.”
“Franks, look, whatever’s going on, changing your wardrobe is probably not going to fix it. Think about it. You’re too smart for this.”
“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want to be smart.”
Hearing her say she doesn’t want to be smart—it lights a fuse.
I want to shake her, tell her smart’s all we’ve got. Smart is what’s going to save her ass from Silt, keep her from turning into Mom, keep her from turning into me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
She huffs an exhale. “God. Never mind.”
I grip her arm. “Don’t take that tone with me. I should be writing a paper right now, but I’m here with you, and I think you owe me—”
“I don’t owe you anything!” She pulls away
and shoves me hard enough to rock me back on my heels. “Buy them or don’t. I’ll be in the truck.”
I stand between the racks of clothes in the aisle of the Salvation Army with no idea what I’m supposed to do next.
Wishing I could ask Caroline.
Monday morning, I stop at the student cafe in the Forum for some coffee and see Caroline alone at a table with a book in front of her and a doughnut on a napkin, untouched.
Chocolate cake doughnut, glazed. Her favorite.
I sit down across from her, pick it up, take a big bite.
“Dick,” she says.
Without looking up, she kicks me in the shin.
Sitting there, I eat the whole doughnut. The sun’s shining in the windows across the front of the Forum, bathing her in light. She reads with her mouth slightly open, pushing her tongue into the gap between her teeth. She’s switching from her book to a stack of note cards covered in highlighter, and I recognize the format. She’s got a Latin quiz.
“Want me to help with your verbs?”
“No. Quit distracting me. I only have ten minutes.”
I walk up to the counter and buy her a replacement doughnut.
She doesn’t say another word to me, and it’s still the best fifteen minutes of my day.
When I come home at two a.m. after my shift that night, I find her pecking away at her laptop in my kitchen.
“You know the library’s open, right?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmm.”
