The Care and Handling of Roses With Thorns by Margaret Dilloway Page A

you need anything?” I can tell what he’s thinking. Gal’s family is completely messed up. Should I call the police? Is Gal able to handle this? His face is all sad basset-hound sympathy. I can’t stand it.
    Riley stands and she’s tall, taller than her mother, at least five-ten. She looks like some kind of preppy vampire hunter in those clothes and that hair. “Thank you very much for your assistance, sir.” She holds her hand out to the headmaster and pumps his up and down firmly. She straightens her posture and sets her lips, with their faded dark-red lipstick, firmly in a line. “Thank you, Aunt Gal.”
    “You’re welcome.” I’m surprised at her politeness. When you see a kid dressed like her, you expect her to be withdrawn and surly. Maybe I should be the one dressing like that. Get me some tattoos. I wonder briefly if she has any, and decide it’s not the right time to inquire.
    I wait until we’re at my house to call Becky. I hope this is sufficient time to calm my nerves enough to do more than shout at my sister. I am so mad I can feel the wax melting in my ears. I decide to make a list of points I will make to her so I don’t leave anything out.
    Riley flicks her gaze around my small living room. It’s shabbier than what she’s used to, I know. “The guest room has a queen-sized bed.” I hang my keys on their hook by the door. “Make yourself at home.”
    She nods, still folded into herself, and curls up on the living room couch.
    I go into my bedroom and shut the door, hitting Becky’s number. It rings twice before she answers. “Hey, did my girl get there all right?”
    For a moment I think I’ve lost my mind, my sister’s voice is so confident and casual. “Becky, what in the name of all that is good and holy is Riley doing here alone?” There. Not exactly a shout, but not meek either.
    “Becca. It’s Becca now.” She lowers her voice. “I don’t understand.”
    I ignore this. “Becky, I was not expecting Riley. We never talked about it.”
    “Mom said . . .”
    “I don’t care what Mom said. Mom’s not our go-between. Pick up the phone and call me directly if you want to talk to me.” I don’t believe for a second our mother agreed to this. It would be entirely out of character. The only thing I can think of is, my mother was distracted by her packing when Becky talked to her, and Becky, as usual, made some very grand assumptions about what I’d do.
    The very sound of her breathing hurts my ears. “There’s only one little problem. I’m about to board a flight for Hong Kong.”
    I throw my hands up. “She’s your daughter, for crying out loud. You can’t dump her someplace.”
    “I’m not trying to dump her. If I don’t go to Hong Kong, I have no job at all.” Becky takes a breath. “Listen, if you want, call Mom. I’m sure she’ll come home from France and get her.”
    “Don’t make Mom solve all your crap. It’s not fair.”
    “She sure solves yours.” Her voice rises again. “She’ll be at your side at the drop of a hat if you need her. Not mine.”
    I take a deep breath of my own. I think of Riley out there on the couch, probably listening to all this. How no one wants her. That can’t be good for a kid. “Did you talk to her father?”
    She snorts. “Now that is funny. That would do no good. Besides, living with you in California is a lot better than shipping her off to her wicked stepmother in Boston.”
    I have nothing to say to this. It is incomprehensible. All of it.
    “Listen.” She takes on the confident, salesperson demeanor she makes her living with. Nothing can touch her in her bubble. I know I am lost. “Just keep her until I get back, okay? Please? She hasn’t seen you in what, a year?”
    “More like seven.”
    “And whose fault is that? The phone works both ways, last time I checked.”
    Touché, my sister.
    Becky continues. “I’ll send you a check for her upkeep.”
    That isn’t the point. Though I’ll need