“Prison!” My mom let out a laugh. “If you want to call her life skill therapies prisons, then go ahead. Look, I don’t know why this is such a big deal to you. The state’s done a better background check than we ever could.”
“That.” I pointed. “That is exactly what I’m talking about. You want to know why I moved back here? Why I’m being cautious? Because you’re not.”
She put down the knife. “That’s not fair.”
“Well, it wasn’t fair when you hired that nincompoop last spring and Jade was the one who paid the price.”
“Derrick Allen.” My mother’s eyes darkened. “That is enough. What happened was not your father’s fault or mine.”
I rubbed my eyes. More sleep was required for these conversations. I turned and headed back to the casita to change.
“Where are you going?” She sounded peeved, but I didn’t turn.
“I’m going to go on a run.”
“Don’t you need to sleep?” she called after me as I stalked out of the kitchen.
“I’m not tired.”
My body begged to differ. As soon as I shut the casita door, my arms screamed at me to lie down. In our search for a missing tool the night before, I’d moved boxes that were probably only meant for two or more people to carry. But I wanted to go home, so I’d moved them anyway, and now everything hurt. My mind, however, was far too wired to rest. I would have to clear my head. Then maybe I would be able to sleep.
I changed into basketball shorts and my favorite, beat-up hockey t-shirt and headed outside, pausing only to put my earbuds in and turn them up as loud as they would go. Then I set off.
I didn’t particularly enjoy running in my parents’ neighborhood with its perfect brick houses and perfectly manicured yards and copious supply of expensive cars. People waved in response whenever I passed, but everyone, including me, seemed to sense that I fit into this neighborhood about as well as my truck. Pretty much the same way I’d fit in at Harvard.
I turned a corner and nearly ran into another runner, this one a young woman. Her hair was nearly the same shades of gold and brown as Jessica Nickleby’s, and I immediately felt a twinge of guilt. Could I have been nicer to her? Most definitely. After all, it wasn’t her fault my parents had asked for help. And in all honesty, they could have done much worse. A certified teacher would have the basic federal background checks and fingerprints and all that, so at least she wasn’t likely to be a serial killer.
She was also exceptionally pretty. I’d been genuinely surprised when she showed up on my parents’ front step, so much so that I nearly forgot how to respond when I’d opened the door. She was petite, a little on the short side, her hair in messy, large curls that reached just to her shoulders. When Mom had told me about Jade’s teacher, I’d envisioned a matronly woman with too many cats, writing up worksheets for a hobby, rather than a young woman with vibrant green eyes.
Amy. I should call Amy to get my head sorted out. My recent schedule change that had me working nights instead of days was still messing with my ability to think straight, and my fiancée was a good voice of objectivity. I appreciated that about her, her ability to see things without emotion coloring her judgment. I came to a stop at a little neighborhood park and collapsed on a bench beneath a large tree.
The phone rang six times then went to voicemail. Sighing, I pushed myself off the bench and starting running again.
5
We’d Hoped
Jessie
“Hey, Mom! Dad! I’m home!” I hung my purse and keys up on a peg just inside the door. Then I paused and inhaled deeply before heading for the kitchen. “It smells good in here.”
“Thanks. It’s a new candle scent I thought I’d try.” My mom picked up the little pink candle and examined it as I walked in. “It’s supposed to be sweet pea, but I think it’s more like peach.” She brushed a piece of caramel-colored hair away from her eyes. “Where have you been? I thought you were done in your classroom yesterday. I have a whole list of errands we need to run, and I’m going to need your help with planning the church bake sale. Oh, and I forgot. Dr. Neilson wants me to come in again next week.”
I froze. “Why?”
“Oh, don’t look like that. It’s just something about bloodwork. Nothing to worry about. I just needed to know if you wanted to come along.”
“Sure thing.” I forced myself to smile, as though this didn’t shake me to the core. “And I’m all done at school.” I helped myself to a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge then drank in small, measured sips, trying to come up with how to word what I was about to tell my mother. But there was no way around it. This wasn’t going to thrill them no matter how I put it. Finally, I put the cup down and stared at it. “You know the little girl I told you about at school?” I asked slowly. “The one with Down Syndrome.” If I played the sympathy card first, maybe my parents wouldn’t mind so much.
“Jade? We ran into them at the grocery store once, didn’t we?”
“That’s her.”
“She’s a cutie. What about her?”
“Her parents,” I said slowly, tracing shapes in the quartz countertop, “have asked me to care for her this summer.”
My mom looked up from the dishes she was scrubbing. “They want you to tutor?”
