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Huh… Not what I was expecting.
Deciding to not be more of a brat, I go back downstairs, peeking around corners like a demented meercat, checking for sight of Stanley or Lane. I hear his laughter coming from the den and set myself back up at the dining table.
Lane, having heard me, joins me with a tender look on her face. “It must be hard, not having anyone you love nearby.”
“Trust me, I’m used to it by now.” I begin to eat without saying a prayer. I gave up on those years ago.
“Stanley isn’t used to having kids around of any age. You’ll have to bear with him. Okay? He’s a little rough around the edges but he means well.”
I lick my lips clean and give the woman and blank stare. “Then why did you both insist I come and stay here?”
“Because we wanted you here.”
“Why? I’m almost an adult. I’m not cute and cuddly. I’m never going to be your daughter whose hair you braid and grazed knees you kiss.”
Her blue eyes round with sorrow. “Have you ever been anyone’s daughter?”
Looking at my plate, I eat more, effectively ending the conversation.
“Do you like to fish?” Stanley asks, startling me so much that I drop my fork with a loud clatter on my plate. I twist in my seat to look at him, he’s leaning against the breakfast bar, looking down his nose at me.
Is this how he gets me on my own and away from Lane?
“No,” I reply firmly and we all lapse into an awkward silence.
“Walking, do you like walking?”
I shake my head.
He frowns, frustrated now. “Jogging?”
“No.”
“Movies?”
“Nope.”
“Reading?”
I don’t answer. Instead I eat more food.
His lips press together. “Forget it.” He looks at Lane who gives him a sympathetic smile. “Call for me if you need me.”
“I will.” She slides a sheet of paper my way when he stomps from the room like a big man child. “Here are the house rules, and our schedule. I figured you might be more inclined to pay attention to them on paper than verbal.”
Taking it, I unfold it and look down the list. It’s pretty average. Don’t be late, behave in school, get average or above grades, don’t cause trouble, don’t talk back, put clothes in hamper, etc.
“Which school am I to attend?” I mentally beg that she says a public school in New Orleans despite the long commute. I know it’s not probable.
The dog rests his head on my lap and looks up at me with large brown eyes. I scratch his head. I’ve never had a dog before. I always liked the idea of a pet but not the pooping part.
“I thought you might like to attend St. Peter’s Catholic school of Fine Arts. We already enrolled you for the semester. We will be taking you on a tour around it tomorrow and if you like it you can start next week. It’s an excellent school.”
“You really think I’ll be here that long?” I snort and she gives me a pitying look that I despise. I get that often yet nobody ever seems to try and help beyond it.
It’s a kick in the teeth. It’s like they’re saying, “Oh, we feel so bad for you but that’s the extent of the help we’re willing to give.”
“My uncle will have me out of here before Sunday.”
She really has no clue the kind of man my uncle is and the kind of man her husband likely is, what with him being on the senator’s payroll. Shame. She seems really nice.
“He won’t,” Lane insists.
I laugh quietly, humorlessly, and angrily while shaking my head. Poor naïve Lane.
“Do you like your room? Is there anything I can do to improve it?”
Finishing the food on my plate, I dab at the corners of my lips with a napkin and shrug my shoulders. “I’m not fussy, Lane. I’m grateful for what I’ve got. No use in wanting more.”
With eyes lingering on me full of sadness and confusion, she stands and takes my plate away, replacing it with one full of treats. The dog follows her.
“Eat as many as you like.”
I take a cupcake and scoop some of the frosting from the top.
We sit in silence, it’s a bit awkward and I can tell she wants to ask me things but doesn’t want to push me.
“What time shall I be up in the morning?” I ask quietly, swallowing the sweet cake in my mouth first. She’s good at baking. Exactly the kind of mother I always wished for growing up. It’s a shame she’s come now that I’m already grown up.
“Eight, I’ll knock for you.”
“I’ll be up at eight,” I mutter and stand. “Thank you.”
“No problem. You turn in for the night. Rest well.”
Rest well. Next joke.
Until all intentions are clear, I won’t be able to rest at all.
Instead I sleep sitting upright on top of the duvet with a can of mace in one hand and the fork I swiped from dinner in the other.
