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“Stolen.”
“No!” She shook her head fiercely.
“Uh-uh.” Dylan was in quick agreement.
Rachel was trying to piece it all together. “Is that why the Schmidt kid was on your case?”
Dylan nodded, glancing at his sister as if she would back him up.
“How?” Rachel asked.
“Something I did for him didn’t work and he . . . he wanted me to fix it right then and there, so I cut class and met him, but I didn’t have all the right equipment. I wanted to bring it home and he was pissed off—er, mad at me. Said he’d already paid and . . . and so . . .”
“But why wouldn’t you tell me?”
“Because you freak out about everything, everything. You’re a walking basket case.”
Rachel protested. “I’m not—”
“Seriously, Mom,” Harper said, “it’s like we can’t tell you anything or you’ll go all . . . weird and hyper and suspicious.”
“Is that true?” Rachel said, turning to her son. Beyond him, through the window, she saw Ella Dickerson in her yard, down on her hands and knees, pulling weeds. “Am I that bad?”
Dylan swallowed and glanced at his sister before meeting his mother’s eyes. “We just don’t want to, you know, upset you.”
She wasn’t certain she was getting all of the truth, and she was suspicious that they’d somehow both worked together, double-teamed her with the story, but part of it was right.
“We hear you, Mom,” Harper said softly, and for the first time since she’d entered the conversation, her daughter seemed totally sincere. “At night, when you have those dreams. We hear you walk around, talk to yourself, even scream sometimes.”
Her heart sank. The last thing she wanted to do, the very last, was worry her children.
“It’s not your fault,” Harper was quick to add. “I—we know that, but it’s . . . scary.”
“Yeah,” her son put in. “Kinda freaky, Mom.”
Her heart squeezed painfully. “Oh. God. I don’t want to ever . . .” Rachel felt horrible and wanted to apologize all over the place, but she couldn’t help but wonder how this conversation had turned around, to the point where instead of dealing with Dylan’s obvious lies, she was now feeling as if she’d failed as a mother. She looked from daughter to son. For once they seemed absolutely sincere. Still she was suspicious. Even now they might be hiding something. But what? “Okay. Well.” She slapped her hands onto her thighs, then stood. “This has been . . . enlightening. And maybe we should all work on being more truthful.”
“And calm?” Harper suggested.
“Yeah. That too.” Rachel felt that this would be a group hug moment if her life were a television sitcom or drama, but as it was, Dylan said, “Can I go now?”
“Yeah. But no more secrets and no more cutting class. You can set up something here, or meet kids before or after school.”
“Okay. But can I have my money back?” he asked.
“Yes. Sure. It’s yours,” she said, “except for the hundred dollars you owe me, right?”
“Right,” he said, scooping up his money and heading to his room.
“Thanks,” she said to her daughter, but didn’t feel the relief she’d anticipated.
Harper nodded. “You’re welcome, but, Mom, really, don’t go through my room again, okay? And don’t tell me you didn’t, cuz I know you did. I can tell. Besides, we’re not having any more secrets. Right?”
“Right.”
“And going through my things, that’s like illegal, right? An invasion of privacy or something?”
“Not illegal.” Rachel shook her head and tightened the band that was holding her hair away from her face. “But next time, I’ll let you know.”
