“Whatever. Too early. What’s wrong?”
“We’re fine,” Mom says, but her voice shakes. “Just a simple misunderstanding.”
I keep my hand on her arm, both of us as tense as spooked cats. Pete shifts his gaze between the two of us for a few seconds before he closes his eyes, releasing a huge sigh. When he speaks, his voice is calm and even. “Grace, can you and Julian excuse us for a minute?”
“No, I cannot,” I say.
“It’s okay, baby,” Mom says. “Pete and I need to talk.”
“So talk. I’ll stay right here.” Pete is huge and was all crimson-faced and pissed-off two seconds ago. And yeah, okay, it sounds like Mom stole his money and he has every right to be mad about that, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her alone with him.
“Come on, Grace,” Jay says, taking my hand and pulling.
I jerk back. “Get your hands off me.”
“Gracie, go,” Mom says.
“No way in hell.”
“Margaret Grace.” She turns toward me, prying my fingers off her arm. “You watch your mouth and get your little butt back in your room. This is between Pete and myself, and I do not need you here. I can handle this.”
I blink at her, speechless. She’s never said that to me before—?that she didn’t need me. I’m so shocked, I don’t even fight Jay guiding me away and down the hall.
In my room, I sink down onto the bed, but my senses are still on high alert. I listen for more yelling or shattering of thrown objects, but there’s only a low murmur. Jay hovers in the doorway.
“He won’t hit her,” he says.
I glance up. “What?”
“He can get pretty loud when he’s mad, but he won’t hit her. He’s never hit anyone in his life. Not even a dude.”
My body relaxes and I let out a bitter laugh. Because this is ridiculous, right? That this is what I’m worried about. Because I never know exactly what we’re getting into; with every new guy, every fight, every scream, there’s always a chance it’ll turn ugly.
On my rumpled bed, the fingers of my right hand move subtly, tapping out the bass clef of Schumann’s Fantasie. Jay stays put, watching me. I can’t look at him. Yeah, he’s an ass, but I’m acutely aware right now that I’m the girl whose mom just stole from his hard-working dad—?the man whose house we’re living in, whose food we’re eating, who could kick us out at any minute. I can’t remember the last time Mom sold a piece of jewelry or worked a shift at Reinhardt’s Deli. If she’s slipping twenties from Pete’s wallet or wherever, then things are bad and could get worse any minute. I feel an overwhelming urge to apologize, and I swear to god, I’m about to, when I think of my own stash of tips from LuMac’s.
It’s not much. I’ve only worked one shift, but when I got home yesterday, I put the thirty bucks in my Wizard of Oz music box that I’ve had since I was five, a birthday present from Emmy. Jay’s eyes follow me as I get up and cross the room to my dresser, flipping open the box’s lid. “Over the Rainbow” twinkles through the room, slightly off-key after so many years of play. Dorothy spins slowly in her ruby slippers.
The box is empty.
I knew it would be. Just like I know I won’t ask her about it. Just like I know if she had asked me for the money, I would’ve given it to her.
I stare at the dingy, emerald-green velvet interior, a little yellow brick road curling through the faux forest floor. Gently, I close the box and lift my eyes to the mirror. My hair is stringy from being outside last night, the wind and running tangling it up, and there’s a mess of smudged eyeliner I was too exhausted to wash off when I got home.
I look like her.
“Where’s your mom, Jay?” I ask, eyes still fixed on my reflection.
“Huh?”
“Your mom. I assume you have one.”
He clears his throat, and I turn to look at him. He’s staring at me, his lower lip tucked under his teeth. “She’s in Chicago. Has been for about four years.”
“Why?”
“They got divorced, obviously. She moved there for work. She’s a lawyer. A career-obsessed bitch, honestly, with a whole new family. I usually see her at Thanksgiving.”
“Oh.”
