belly, fingers splayed as if taking the measure of the long vertical scar on the skin beneath her clothes.
“I wish I had your gift, Wes. I really do. But mark my words,” she said slowly, as if she was only going to say this once and it behooved him to listen, “this thing has disaster written all over it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do,” she finished and was gone.
For a long moment, Avery watched the swinging door resettle itself. He heard her move through the living room and into the middle room to pack up the supplies for tomorrow’s show.
He turned to eyeball the window onto the lake, but there was nothing to see except his own watery reflection. The darkness outside was lashed with blue rain. Some fine messenger you are, he thought miserably. Tried to reconstruct what just happened—and why?—but he couldn’t get it straight, couldn’t pinpoint the place where he might have kept things on track. All he could remember was the way her smile fell off her face and hurt bloomed on her neck.
Somehow he’d bungled it and was left to sort through the after-mess alone. Did Sarah really have a problem with Emilio? Or was it Charlotte’s not-telling that set her off? Or was this just fallout from her nerves over today’s storm and tomorrow’s Civil Defense show? But why walk out like that? Why not sit and talk this through, the way most people do, the way they used to?
He covered her plate and put it in the fridge, then made his way reluctantly to the open door of the shelter. He leaned against the oversized doorjamb, hoping to reopen their conversation, but her look over the half-filled cardboard box warned him off.
Not now, Wes,
it said.
Leave me be.
“Can I help you pack, at least?”
She shook her head. “I have a system. It’ll be easier to unpack tomorrow if I do it myself.”
So he left her alone and retreated to the sunken living room and the Saturday-night lineup of their favorite TV shows.
—
I NSIDE THE SHELTER, S ARAH sat back on the fold-up metal chair and swallowed hard against a rising tide of upset. When was it, in the good cop–bad cop roles of parenting, I became the permanent bad cop, the spoilsport and chief disciplinarian—while Wes got to slide by on a wink and a smile? Is that why Charlotte went to him with her big news? Didn’t she think I’d be as excited as the next person? Or did she go to the station in the hope of having Emilio ask her to dance? Where in the world did that come from? And then she was here all afternoon and never said a word!
Just like Kitty.
The chilling effect of those three little words, echoing inside her head in her mother’s voice, made her shiver.
Oh, Lord, that’s it, isn’t it? When Wes looks at Charlotte, all he sees is Daddy’s little girl all grown up. But more and more, I see Kitty—that scary tendency to leap without looking: go to a college fair and make up your mind after talking to a single recruiter, accept a date with a boy you hardly know because he’s the first to ask—and all I can think of is what happened…
Oh, I’m sure Wes and Charlotte think I’m unfair, too strict, too much of a worrywart. But neither of them was
there.
They’ve never seen, as I did, how quickly a girl’s life, her reputation, her entire family can fall apart over a single night’s stupidity.
Sarah stopped short of letting her mind wander down that particularly painful path.
Life was so much easier and safer when Charlotte was little! What I wouldn’t give to go back to the days of tea parties, ballet lessons, and hopscotch chalk marks all down the drive. Now the older and more independent Charlotte gets, the more potential disasters I see wherever I look.
What’s happened to me? Why can’t I be the person I used to be? Why? Because the velocity of
everything
has changed, sped
up.
And I can’t escape the feeling that I’m two steps behind with no hope of ever…
Stop this!
A part of her brain knew she was overreacting and
“I wish I had your gift, Wes. I really do. But mark my words,” she said slowly, as if she was only going to say this once and it behooved him to listen, “this thing has disaster written all over it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do,” she finished and was gone.
For a long moment, Avery watched the swinging door resettle itself. He heard her move through the living room and into the middle room to pack up the supplies for tomorrow’s show.
He turned to eyeball the window onto the lake, but there was nothing to see except his own watery reflection. The darkness outside was lashed with blue rain. Some fine messenger you are, he thought miserably. Tried to reconstruct what just happened—and why?—but he couldn’t get it straight, couldn’t pinpoint the place where he might have kept things on track. All he could remember was the way her smile fell off her face and hurt bloomed on her neck.
Somehow he’d bungled it and was left to sort through the after-mess alone. Did Sarah really have a problem with Emilio? Or was it Charlotte’s not-telling that set her off? Or was this just fallout from her nerves over today’s storm and tomorrow’s Civil Defense show? But why walk out like that? Why not sit and talk this through, the way most people do, the way they used to?
He covered her plate and put it in the fridge, then made his way reluctantly to the open door of the shelter. He leaned against the oversized doorjamb, hoping to reopen their conversation, but her look over the half-filled cardboard box warned him off.
Not now, Wes,
it said.
Leave me be.
“Can I help you pack, at least?”
She shook her head. “I have a system. It’ll be easier to unpack tomorrow if I do it myself.”
So he left her alone and retreated to the sunken living room and the Saturday-night lineup of their favorite TV shows.
—
I NSIDE THE SHELTER, S ARAH sat back on the fold-up metal chair and swallowed hard against a rising tide of upset. When was it, in the good cop–bad cop roles of parenting, I became the permanent bad cop, the spoilsport and chief disciplinarian—while Wes got to slide by on a wink and a smile? Is that why Charlotte went to him with her big news? Didn’t she think I’d be as excited as the next person? Or did she go to the station in the hope of having Emilio ask her to dance? Where in the world did that come from? And then she was here all afternoon and never said a word!
Just like Kitty.
The chilling effect of those three little words, echoing inside her head in her mother’s voice, made her shiver.
Oh, Lord, that’s it, isn’t it? When Wes looks at Charlotte, all he sees is Daddy’s little girl all grown up. But more and more, I see Kitty—that scary tendency to leap without looking: go to a college fair and make up your mind after talking to a single recruiter, accept a date with a boy you hardly know because he’s the first to ask—and all I can think of is what happened…
Oh, I’m sure Wes and Charlotte think I’m unfair, too strict, too much of a worrywart. But neither of them was
there.
They’ve never seen, as I did, how quickly a girl’s life, her reputation, her entire family can fall apart over a single night’s stupidity.
Sarah stopped short of letting her mind wander down that particularly painful path.
Life was so much easier and safer when Charlotte was little! What I wouldn’t give to go back to the days of tea parties, ballet lessons, and hopscotch chalk marks all down the drive. Now the older and more independent Charlotte gets, the more potential disasters I see wherever I look.
What’s happened to me? Why can’t I be the person I used to be? Why? Because the velocity of
everything
has changed, sped
up.
And I can’t escape the feeling that I’m two steps behind with no hope of ever…
Stop this!
A part of her brain knew she was overreacting and
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