I stare at Valencia, trying to read her face. This has to be a trap, like as soon as I say I’m going to leave, she’ll cackle like an evil witch and metal bars will slide down over every window, locking me here forever.
But that would require mewantingto leave. Because right now I don’t. I can’t, even. More than anything, right now I want Valencia to hug me again. It’s wrong, and I know that. But I also know that my own parents have never said anything to me like what Valencia just said. They’ve nevertrustedme as completely as she’s willing to do.
Yeah, what I did is messed up, and she’s talking about another kid. But maybe I can pretend she isn’t. Because for once in my life, someone has told me they’re proud of me. That they love me and who I am. Has a week been enough for Valencia to see who I truly am and be proud of that person, or is it still the real Nate she’s thinking about?
Honestly, fuck it. I don’t care.
I put the duffel bag on the floor, then slide it under my bed with my foot. Valencia steps forward and pulls me into another hug. And it’s a hug that really does make all the bad things in the world disappear.
Despite everything, when Valencia hugs me, I feel safe.
Twenty-Six
True to her word, Gramma Sharon arrives on Wednesday morning right as Valencia and Marcus are leaving for work. Marcus is still acting awkward toward me because of the paint incident, but I don’t care.
“What are you two doing today?” Valencia asks as she puts her lunch into a canvas tote.
“Thought we’d go drinking before noon and rob a bank around one,” Gramma Sharon says with zero humor. “Sound good to you, kid?”
Valencia scoffs. “Well. Try not to get arrested.” She comes over to the table and kisses me on top of my head before adding quietly, “Again.” Which does make me laugh. She says goodbye and Gramma Sharon asks me what I really want to do, but I have no idea. I tell her I’m fine hanging around here.
“Bah!” She flicks a hand at me. “If I wanted to hang around a house, I’d do it at home, in my underwear,alone.”
I snort, which makes her cackle.
The door leading to the garage opens again and Valencia is back. Her face has an ashen look that unsettles me.
“What’s wrong?” Gramma Sharon asks.
Valencia takes a deep breath and sets her tote bag on the floor next to the door, then pulls out the chair next to me to sit down.
“I’m not mad,” she starts—which, let’s be honest, is a weird way to start a conversation.
Something else happened.It’s my first thought, and my stomach twists into knots. It’s her car that’s had paint thrown on it this time. Or maybe it was keyed or the windows smashed in. Something Marcus could do while we were all asleep and still get away with it.
Something to frame me for.
Valencia reaches out and clasps my hand firmly. “Can you remember how much fertilizer you gave the hydrangeas?”
Zero. She forgot to tell me how much to use so I skipped it. But on Monday afternoon she asked if I fertilized them. She was already doubting me about Marcus’s car, so I was stupid and said I did. I didn’t want her to have another reason to be pissed or annoyed at me. So I lied.
And I do it again now. “However much the instructions said.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“Valencia, what is it?” Gramma Sharon asks.
She shakes her head but wipes a tear that spills over. “Nothing. It’s not important. I think maybe the Miracid I bought was labeled wrong. Maybe it’s extra-strength or...” She shrugs because she can’t come up with a better excuse for whatever it is.
“What?” I ask.
“The hydrangeas are all burned,” she says.
Burned?They looked fine yesterday. Droopy and they had some brown spots, but they weren’t burned. I get up and go out the backdoor. Valencia calls after me, telling me it’s okay and she’s not mad. I walk, barefoot, around the house to look at the flowering bushes that line the side and front.
But I don’t even think you could call them bushes anymore. The once purple-blue-pink flowers are brown and droopy. The leaves have fallen off into piles around the peeling stalks. Yesterday they looked a little peaked. Today, they’re definitely dead.
“Oh.” Gramma Sharon’s voice is almost inaudible behind me where she and Valencia stand, watching my reaction. What is going on? Who keeps doing these things?
