I watched her twirl a strand of hair as she listened. At one point, she glanced up at me and rolled her eyes. This was a whole other world to me.
“Okay. Okay, Mom. Yes. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’m leaving soon.”
I shoved my feet into a pair of shoes.
“Yes, Mom.Soonmeans now. Okay. Oh my god. Relax.”
Another pause. “I love you too.”
Grace hung up and then flung herself onto her back, her arms and legs flailing in an adorable fit. Then she laughed, covering her face.
I arrived at the edge of the bed dressed like a ski lift operator.
She got a load of my outfit and her eyes rounded. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m prepared to flee.”
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere your mother is not. What did she say?”
“She said that she would very much like for me to come home because, according to her, I didn’t ask to go out.”
“You didn’t ask, though.”
“No. But I told her I did.”
“And she bought that?”
“Yes, Rory. It’s called trust.”
“But you lied to her.”
“I know. Here’s how it works. You bank the trust, so then when you really need to lie, you skim a little out of savings. Get it?”
I shook my head. “You and I grew up very differently. There are no trust banks in foster care.”
“What happened if you lied?”
I swept my hair to the side to reveal a two-inch scar just above my right ear.
Her playful demeanor disintegrated on impact.
“Don’t,” I said.
Grace didn’t shy away, pushing my hand away and pulling my hair back. “Who did this to you?”
“Does it really matter now? I was twelve.”
“Yes, it does… to me.”
“Grace, you’re stressing me the fuck out, and I’m about to have heatstroke. Get your shoes on. I’m walking you to your car. We can have story time on one of your next scheduled appointments.”
She stretched up on her knees and kissed my scar before she got herself ready, and then we were out the door. It wasn’t until we reached her car that I noticed the change in her demeanor.
“Is everything okay?”
“I have something to tell you, and you’re probably not going to like it, but the good news is, you have no clothes left, so…”
