I hope he doesn’t expect me to play the Good Daughter this evening. I’m not in the mood.
“Well, um.” He looks uncomfortable. “It’s actually more than one person. We all became so close at the ranch, and I told them if they needed time to get their lives in order…”
I feel my stomach drop. No, no, no no no. Please,pleasedon’t let this be true. Itcan’tbe true. Because there is no way my dad—my supposed newly sober and responsible father—has brought home a bunch of other alcoholics to live with us. How could he ever think that was a good idea? Margaret certainly wouldn’t.
“So,” I start slowly, hoping I have this all wrong. “They’re inside now?”
“We’re taught to help and support each other.” There’s more authority in his voice now. “They need a little time to get back on their feet. I promise, Kira, if I had even the slightest feeling that they were a threat I wouldn’t have invited them. But they aren’t. They’re really great people. You’ll see.”
Great people?Is he serious? Opening our home to these recovering addicts is the last thing we both need.
I’m opening my mouth to tell him this, but the front door swings open. A woman in a navy dress stands there with a radiant smile on her face.
“I thought I heard someone!” I notice right away that she’s one of those women who have a naturally loud voice. “Come in! What are y’all still doing outside?”
I stand there, staring from her to my father. He heaves my luggage up the porch and steps around me. I follow behind. What else can I do?
“This is Peach,” my dad says by way of introduction.
The woman called Peach beams at me as I set my purse on the entryway table. I guess that maybe she’s in her late thirties. There’s a smudge of pink lipstick on one tooth. Her pale hair is piled on top of her head and tightly secured with one of those giant clips. There are slight creases around her tired eyes.
“A true pleasure to meet you,” Peach tells me. “Your daddy talked so much about you at the ranch!”
“Uh,” is the only thing I can think to say.
A guy wearing dozens of leather bracelets on each arm steps toward me. “You must be Kira.”
I blink up at him. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he’s wearing a black T-shirt that has the wordnamastein cursive on the front. When he smiles at me, I notice a gap between his teeth. He can’t be older than twenty-five. Or maybe it’s his gawkiness that makes him look young.
“I’m Saylor,” he tells me, sticking out a hand.
Warily, I take it. His skin is slightly chapped.
Before I can even process my overwhelming thoughts, an older lady appears in front of me. She’s wearing a neon-pink sweater that has blue jaguars (jaguars?) patterned all over, and on her feet are two giant… cats? Confirmed. She is definitely wearing fuzzy feline slippers. Her gray hair is in giant rollers. She squints as if her vision is troubling her, peering at me through her turquoise frames.
“Kira! Oh, it’s so nice to meet you.” Her rollers bob up and down as she speaks. “Call me Nonnie.”
My breathing is shallow. I feel light-headed. I think I might be sick. Or claustrophobic. This wasnotthe homecoming I expected. I’m sure everything was allkumbayaat the ranch, but bringing a group of alcoholics here? Into our lives? Intomylife?
I consider calling Aunt June. There’s no way she knew about my dad’s plans. She would honestly think this whole situation is completely bananas.
Plus, how are we supposed to house three extra people? I mean, sure we have a fold-out couch and—
Wait. No. There’s no way Dad would offer up Grams’s room. But when I look over at him, I can tell he’s already made the decision. My blood boils, fueled by heat and anger and betrayal.
I grab my purse and the closest suitcase to me. “I’m going to bed.”
My dad nods gently. “Of course. You’ve had a long day.” He steps forward to hug me, but I step back. He looks hurt. I pretend I don’t notice. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
Saylor motions to my other suitcase. “I’ll get this one.”
Before I can say no, he grabs it and begins taking the stairs two at a time. Sighing, I follow.
We reach the top landing, and I make a right toward my bedroom. Saylor starts to follow me inside, but I snatch my suitcase from him with more force than the both of us were expecting.
“I got it. Thanks.” My words are clipped and ungrateful, but I don’t care.
Saylor gives a little shrug and smiles. “Okie dokie. Have a good night.”
