“I can’t,” I said, remembering how angry he’d been the night before. “He hates me.”
“No,” she said, turning a page. “He’s just disappointed in you.”
I looked back out at Jamie, who was now leaning over the waterfall, examining the rocks. “With him, that seems even worse.”
She looked up, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I know.”
The first thing I’d done when I woke up that morning—after acknowledging my pounding, relentless headache—was try to piece together the events from the day before. My argument with Cora I remembered, as well as my ride to school and to Jackson. Once I got to the clearing, though, it got fuzzy.
Certain things, however, were crystal clear. Like how strange it was not only to see Jamie angry, but to see him angry at me. Or catching that glimpse of my mother’s face, distorted with mine, staring back from the mirror. And finally how, after I took her hand, Cora led me silently up the stairs to my room, where she’d stripped off my clothes and stood outside the shower while I numbly washed my hair and myself, before helping me into my pajamas and my bed. I’d wanted to say something to her, but every time I tried she just shook her head. The last thing I recalled before falling asleep was her sitting on the edge of my mattress, a dark form with the light coming in the window behind her. How long she stayed, I had no idea, although I vaguely remembered opening my eyes more than once and being surprised to find her still there.
Now the door behind me opened, and Jamie came in, Roscoe tagging along at his feet. I looked up at him, but he brushed past, not making eye contact, to put his mug in the sink. “So,” Cora said slowly, “I think maybe we all should—”
“I’ve got to go into the office,” he said, grabbing his phone and keys off the counter. “I told John I’d meet him to go over those changes to the campaign.”
“Jamie,” she said, looking over at me.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, then kissed the top of her head and left the room, Roscoe following. A moment later, I heard the front door shut behind him.
I swallowed, looking outside again. From anyone else, this would be hardly an insult, if even noticeable. But even I knew Jamie well enough to understand it as the serious snub it was.
Cora came over, sliding into the chair opposite mine. “Hey,” she said, keeping her eyes on me until I finally turned to face her. “It’s okay. You guys will work this out. He’s just hurt right now.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I said as a lump rose in my throat. I was suddenly embarrassed, although whether by the fact I was crying, or crying in front of Cora was hard to say.
“I know.” She reached over, sliding her hand onto mine. “But you have to understand, this is all new to him. In his family, everyone talks about everything. People don’t take off; they don’t come home drunk. He’s not like us.”
Like us. Funny how up until recently—like maybe even the night before—I hadn’t been convinced there was an us here at all. So maybe things could change. “I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I really am.”
She nodded, then sat back, dropping her hand. “I appreciate that. But the fact is, we did trust you, and you betrayed that trust. So there have to be some consequences.”
Here it comes, I thought. I sat back, picking up my water bottle, and braced myself.
“First,” she began, “no going out on weeknights. Weekends, only for work, for the foreseeable future. We strongly considered making you give up your job, but we’ve decided to let you keep it through the holidays, with the provision that we revisit the issue in January. If we find out that you skipped school again, the job goes. No discussion.”
“All right,” I said. It wasn’t like I was in any position to argue.
Cora swallowed, then looked at me for a long moment. “I know a lot happened yesterday. It was emotional for both of us. But you doing drugs or drinking . . . that’s unnacceptable. It’s a violation of the agreement we arranged so you could come here, and if the courts ever found out, you’d have to go back to Poplar House. It cannot happen again.”
I had a flash of the one night I’d stayed there: the scratchy pajamas, the narrow bed, the house director reading over the sheriff’s report while I sat in front of her, silent. I swallowed, then said, “It’s not going to.”
“This is serious, Ruby,” she said. “I mean, when I saw you come in like that last night, I just . . .”
“I know,” I said.
“. . . it’s too familiar,” she finished. Then she looked at me, hard. “For both of us. You’re better than that. You know it.”
“It was stupid of me,” I said. “I just . . . When you told me that about Mom, I just kind of freaked.”
She looked down at the salt shaker between us, sliding it sideways, then back again. “Look, the bottom line is, she lied to both of us. Which shouldn’t really be all that surprising. That said, though, I wish I could have made it easier for you, Ruby. I really do. There’s a lot I’d do different, given the chance.”
I didn’t want to ask. Luckily, I didn’t have to.
“I’ve thought about it so much since I left, how I could have tried harder to keep in touch,” she said, smoothing back a few curls with her hand. “Maybe I could have found a way to take you with me, rent an apartment or something. ”