When I risk a look up, the concern in her eyes seems to bore right into me. I frown.
“Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner, but I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s pretty... bad. He can’t really... go home.”
“Alex, what’s going on?”
I shake my head and drop my eyes. She should know, though, because—
A wave of nausea rolls through me as I picture the scene from that morning. Patrick storming out onto the porch with his sneering face and god-awful mustache and beady brown eyes. He hasn’t changed from the last time I saw him years ago. But this morning, the anger and hate in his expression were downright scary. And Nico’s mom—she didn’t look much more welcoming, either. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her like that before.
Pursing my lips, I shake my head again and look back up. “Nico’s stepfather is back. Patrick. The man who—”
“What?!”
God, I’m glad she interrupted me this time so I didn’t have to finish that sentence. I just nod. “Apparently since Friday night, and his mom... Yeah, um, so he needs a place to stay. I told him he could stay here. I should have asked you first, but—”
“Of course he can stay here. As long as he needs to. I can’t believe Cindy would...” She trails off, shaking her head. “You did the right thing, sweetie. He can stay for as long as he needs.”
Relief hits me, even though I didn’t really doubt she would say yes. I expect a much longer lecture on being upfront and honestand communicating better, but hopefully she’ll let that wait until later, because I really should get going.
Her hand settles on my arm, and she gives me a light squeeze. When I lift my eyes, she’s watching me with a kind, quiet smile.
“Thanks, Mom. I should...” I hike a thumb up, pointing back to the door, and she raises her eyebrows with a half smile.
“Shower first. You really do stink,” she repeats, and she pats my arm this time and then steps away from me, heading back over to continue gathering her painting supplies. To my surprise, she doesn’t mention needing to talk or that we should discuss honesty and communication or anything else that I know is on her mind. Instead, she just says, “I didn’t order anything for Nico for dinner. I’ll call Jack and update our order. He likes their burgers, right? Cheese and lettuce and pickles but no tomato or burger sauce?”
There’s another lump in my throat, and maybe it’s because my mom cares enough to know what Nico’s order would be from her favorite restaurant. Or maybe it’s because I appreciate her not grilling me right now. “Uh, yeah. And he likes the fries extra crispy.”
“Right, yeah. Okay, I’ll call and update the order.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, and I know my voice breaks, but I can’t help it. I turn before she can see the stupid tears forming in my eyes. “I’ll shower and then... yeah.”
I expect her to stop me, call me out, ask what’s wrong. Because that’s her—that’s what she does. But above the sound of my heart pounding in my ears, all I hear is a quiet “okay, sweetie” filled with kindness and love and understanding.
I blink as a tear slips out, but I manage to get through the door and close it behind me before I wipe my cheek.
Chapter Eleven
Nico
“Alright,Ithinkthat’sabout it for today.” Sharon Lenoway, the head librarian at the small public library where I’m working for the summer, stands up from her desk and gives me a tight smile. “Good start. You got a lot done, I think.”
“Yeah. Yeah, thanks,” I say. I try for a smile back, but it’s probably more of a grimace, clouded in exhaustion and the constant ache in my chest I’ve been fighting since this morning.
Sharon doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she picks her cell phone up off the desk, grabs her purse, and then motions toward the front entrance. She starts talking as she walks, and I force myself to try to listen as I follow back a safe distance.
“So tomorrow and Wednesday will be about the same as today, I think.”
She reaches the door and pulls it open, holding it for me, and she keeps talking, saying something about Thursday and the project I’ll be working on with a huge batch of donated books we’re getting in. But I have to work to keep myself from shrinking away, and her words float right on past me, drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding loudly in my ears. I slink by her, making myself as small as possible. Again, she’s oblivious, and she keeps going as she locks the door.
“It shouldn’t take more than a week or two, I think,” she says. “But there are a lot of books, and you’ll need to check them all for damage and missing pages, clean them, sort them, catalog them, label them. Oh, you know what? Maybe Caitlin will be able to help you if she’s not too busy with the summer school kids.”
I clear my throat and manage to force out a few words. “That’s okay. I should be able to handle it.” I fucking hate how my voice sounds all unsure. Raspy, too, like I’m out of breath. But Iamout of breath, and I can’t seem to take in enough air.
“Alright, good. You’re a hard worker. I like that,” she says. She turns to face me with a serious nod, looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Uh, yeah. See you tomorrow.” I wave awkwardly, which is weird because she’s standing right next to me, and she gives an equally awkward smile as she goes to step around me. But then she’s suddenly too close, suddenly coming toward me, suddenly some huge threat according to mystupid fuckingbrain, and I react before I can stop myself. With a flinch, I jump backward out of her way, nearly tripping over my own feet.
God, I’m a fucking idiot.
