For the first time, Carter looks unsure. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.
“How did you end up in foster care?”
The question leaves me stunned. I know people have this morbid curiosity after they find out, but this is the point of no return. If I tell him about it he’ll see me the way the whole town does. Like I’m damaged goods.
Maybe it would be for the best and he’ll take a step back and stop overwhelming me.
“I don’t remember what happened when I was a toddler. I only know what my social worker told me.” And what most of the families reminded me constantly. “I was put up for adoption after I was born, got lucky enough and another family wanted me.” And everything changed after that. “They returned me after two years.”
“Returned?” Carter asks, horrified.
“Yeah…like a present you don’t want.” I laugh humorlessly.
“Did anyone else—”
“No. I bounced from one foster home to another until I was too old to have another chance. People want to adopt babies.” I never spent more than three years in one place, moving around Maine. “There was something about me that meant not even a government check could convince them to keep me. The Millers were the last family to take me in before I turned eighteen. Moved me to Silver Lake Falls where I’ve been living for the past ten years.”
“Did they kick you out?”
The question is not surprising. That’s what usually happens when the checks stop coming.
“Oh, no! They wanted me to stay. Get a college degree. But—” I shake my head, disappointed in myself. “I had other plans.” Jared convinced me to get a job first and a degree later.
He’s pensive, mindlessly dusting off the small China hutch. I knew it. The mention of my history tends to put a damper on conversations.
“Aren’t you angry about it?”
What’s with him and anger?
“No, I left it in the past,” I repeat the feel-good line I feed people. “I choose to focus on the good things.”
“You just pretend your childhood didn’t happen?”
“Not everybody has a soft cushioned great time. So yeah, I’d rather not rehash it.”
Carter stews over his words for a moment. “I had reasons for anger growing up. My father being the main source. But I let it fuel me. I thrived feeding on it.”
“That soundswayhealthier than ignoring it,” I say sarcastically.
“What I mean is anyone would be angry. You are lying to yourself by denying it. This Little Miss Sunshine act is rather pathetic if you ask me—the wounded girl who’s so nice and lets people walk all over her.”
A wave of heat swells in my belly. Flames lick my chest, neck, and slowly rise to scorch my cheeks and pinch the tips of my ears.
Carter’s the embodiment of infinite patience, eyebrow raised, resting on his pry bar. Infuriating. He huffs a patronizing sigh and turns around.
“What. The. Hell!” My high-pitched scream rolls through the trees like a sound wave, chasing away some birds, who squeak in indignation. “What kind of person…” I splutter. “You can’t go around telling people…”
The vein on the side of my neck is throbbing, ready to pop.
“I’m not an act. I’m somebody who tries to make the best of a shitty situation.” Another gulp of air. “And either way I don’t have to explain myself to you… you arrogant…prick. Silver spoon trust fund nepo baby!”
He just waits me out until I finish my rant, almost panting.
“So, youarethe type. Better?”
I wordlessly blink at him, mimicking an owl, spent.
He casually gets back to work, a shadow of a smirk passing the left corner of his mouth.
