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Rubbing the back of her neck, she shook her head. “I know. But by the time it does, we’ll be stronger and—”
“Mom?” The door creaked open and Samantha, lines of worry marring her smooth forehead, slid into the room. At twelve she was gawky, her arms and legs a little too long, her body lanky and athletic rather than curvy. For nearly a year she’d been hoping to grow breasts, but the little nubs on her chest barely filled out the training bra she disdained to wear. Most of the girls in her class had already developed, and everyone seemed to know who wore a B cup, who filled out a C and, God forbid, who was cursed with a double A. Samantha was a late bloomer. A curse as far as Samantha was concerned; a blessing to her mother’s experienced eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Just packing up,” Claire said brightly—too brightly. Her cheer sounded as false as it was. Sean rolled his eyes and flopped onto the bed—stripped of sheets and blankets and now covered with belts, T-shirts, shorts, slips, and pajamas. Claire tossed a mateless shoulder pad into the throwaway bag near the door.
“You were yelling.” Samantha’s worried gaze moved from her brother to her mother.
“Not really.”
“I heard you.”
Not now; I can’t deal with this now. “Sean doesn’t want to move,” Claire explained, frowning at a purse that she tossed into another bag with items to be given to the Salvation Army. “He doesn’t want to leave his friends.”
“His friends are all jerks and stoners.”
He sat bolt upright. “You don’t know anything!”
“Benjie North’s mom found his stash—right in a fake mailbox in his bedroom. Marijuana and hash and—”
Claire’s gaze fell on Sean, her worst suspicions confirmed. She could barely breathe. Her fingers curled around the strap of a second purse. “Is this true?”
“It was a setup.”
“A setup. By whom?”
A beat. Just a moment of condemning hesitation. “His older brother,” Sean lied. “Max hid his stuff in Benjie’s room to fake out his parents. Benjie’s clean. I swear.” He shot his sister a look that could cut through steel.
“Max is only seventeen.”
“You can do dope at any age, Mom.”
“I know.” She let go of her death grip on the purse’s handle. “That’s what worries me.”
“Worries you?”
“What about you, Sean?”
“I’ve never done anything!” Defiance sparked in his eyes.
Samantha started to open her mouth, thought better of it, and sealed her lips.
Sean swallowed hard. “Well just cigarettes and some chew, but you already know about that.”
“Sean—”
“He’s telling the truth,” Samantha said, her gaze meeting her brother’s, a secret hanging between them. With a chilling start, Claire was reminded of the secrets she’d shared with her sisters.
“How would you know?” Claire asked her daughter.
“I go through his room.”
“You what?” Sean whispered in quiet fury.
Samantha lifted a shoulder. “All he’s got is some condoms, a couple of Playboys, and a lighter.”
“You sneaking little creep!” Fists clenched in frustration, he crossed the room and loomed over her. “You had no right to go through my things! You stay out of my room, or I’ll read that damned diary you think is so secret.”
“Don’t you ever—”
