But I can’t really lie, not if she’s going to give me a ride there, after all. “Um, yes.” I do have some work to do before the show this weekend. I haven’t been able to plan any major events, but we are continuing the regular weekly movie nights. “But before that, I need to stop by the school.”
She finishes one hand, inspects her progress and then puts the nail polish away, tightening the lid gently. “Why?”
I offer the bare minimum. “I have to talk to Carter about something.”
“Carter.” Her head tips to one side. “That’s the teacher guy.”
“He’s the principal and yep.” I brace myself for more questions. I bet she is dying to dig.
“Okay.” She blows on her nails. “This is quick drying, so I can be ready to go in just a minute.”
What? That’s it? “Yeah. That’s fine.” I stand up and head upstairs to grab my coat.
Maybe she’s saving the rest of her questions for the ride over.
The roads are clear, with the occasional slowly melting tower of piled snow on the side.
Audrey checks both ways five times before pulling slowly onto the main road.
Has she been driving like an old lady this whole time? I guess it wasn’t so apparent because, until now, we’ve only been going a few blocks back and forth from the theater. When we drove out to move into Beverly’s house, I was on the phone with Moe the whole time asking about my car.
I don’t know why I thought Audrey would be reckless. Maybe because she is with everything else. Friends, guys, money, life in general.
“Why do you drive like a grandma?” I ask.
She glances over at me. “I don’t drive like a grandma.”
“You’re going five miles under the speed limit.”
“Driving is a serious responsibility.”
“Since when are you serious about responsibilities?”
“I’m responsible.”
I huff out a laugh. “Since when?”
Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “It’s a recent development.”
I wait for the punchline, but it never comes.
“I’m trying, Vivien, to not be—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “To be different.”
From Mother.
She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to.
Something in my chest tightens. Is she really changing? Can I trust her? Or start to? “I don’t know what to say.”
She flicks on the turn signal and angles into the school parking lot. “I know you think I’m here as her spy or whatever, but I’m not. You can trust me.”
“Can I?”
She rolls to a stop in front of the main entrance. “What Mother does isn’t my fault. She’s not a good person. I am. Or I’m trying to be.”
I stare at her profile. “I know that.”
Her jaw clenches. “Do you? Then why did you leave me with her?”
