“You know how important my books are to me, Mom. How could you let him do that?”
I pull away from them both and turn back to the piles. “Let’s pack all this up and get out of here,” I mumble. I can’t look at my mom, or I’ll say more stuff that I’ll regret. I grab two suitcases from the closet, open one up, and start packing books into the bottom. James opens the other case and starts to help me.
My mom watches us like she doesn’t know what to do, her hands fluttering about, then she disappears.
“I want to take all the books with me,” I mutter, and James nods, stacking them carefully into the other suitcase.
I root around under the bed to make sure I’ve got everything that asshole shoved in there, and in twenty minutes it’s all packed. I’ve got all the remaining books and a few extra clothes that I can fit in. I fold up the rest of my stuff and stash it in my mom’s room. When we wheel the cases into the kitchen, my mom is sitting at the table, crying.
I step forward and wrap my arms around her from behind. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“You never lose your temper, Sadie,” she says, tears streaming down her face. “Always such a quiet girl. I don’t know what to do when you shout at me. I’m so sorry about your books.”
“Did he say what he did with them?”
She shakes her head.
“Could you talk to him for me? Perhaps I could find some of them if he sold or donated them somewhere local.” But frankly, that would be far too much initiative for someone like him. They probably went in the trash.Fuck.
“Okay, honey. I’ll ask.”
I swallow all my anger back down. “I’ve put the rest of my stuff under your bed. Just tell him I’ve taken it all with me, okay?”
“I’m so sorry,” she weeps, and my stomach flips over. She’s had a hardlife, and in comparison my books are the least of her problems. But, strangely, this feels like more of a violation than Jake touching my ass.
“They’re just books,” I say, aware of James watching me.
She hangs onto my arm. “I’m so sorry. Come back soon, okay?” she whispers.
“Of course, Mom.” I kiss the top of her head. She’s all I’ve got, and my love for her burns somewhere deep inside.
James wheels a case out into the corridor, and then he comes back in to say goodbye to my mom.
She gets up and pulls him into a hug as I take the other suitcase outside. When I come back in, she’s speaking to him in low, earnest tones, and he’s nodding at her. She squeezes his arm.
Christ, I hope she wasn’t saying anything awful like, “You’d make a wonderful son-in-law.”
Chapter 20
James
Ihead down the street toward the apartment with only one thought on my mind: I’ve spent all day trying to work with the two guys who messed up the software, and now it’s late, and I just want to get home to Sadie.
We manhandled two large cases of books and clothes back from her mom’s place yesterday, down the stairs and onto the subway, and through most of it I was really regretting not hiring a van. I wasn’t shocked at where Sadie grew up; I’m more impressed by how she’s pulled herself up by her bootstraps. The flashing glimpses of her life: school, her stepdad, that walk from the station to her home. It makes my skin crawl that she did that in the dark on her own. But my blood turned hot when her mom mentioned her stepdad touching her, and when I quizzed Sadie about it on the way back, she said that he’d touched her just one time and that was why she had to move out. She said she wasn’t pressing charges because she was scared he’d take it out on her mom. Then she chewed on a nail and stared down the train and sank in on herself, so I stopped pushing, even though my whole body felt like it was on fire.
Sadie’s mom was sweet. When we left, she hugged me and thanked me for taking on someone who struggled all through school when she was growing up. She said that few businesses were prepared to do that thesedays, and she and Sadie were very grateful for it. I told her that her daughter was an excellent programmer. I don’t think she quite understands that Sadie could get a job anywhere.
When I walk through the door, Sadie is standing at the stove, frowning. When I peer over her shoulder, she’s made the recipe I showed her the first night in the apartment, and I give her a tired grin. Mr. Karen is sitting on the countertop watching the pan like a hawk.
“That cat is a liability,” I say.
His tail twitches and catches on the burner, and Sadie squeaks, leaning over to flick it out of the way, but Mr. Karen shoots about six feet in the air, streaking off the counter and landing on the floor with a thump, furiously licking at his fur. I squat down to check whether he’s done himself any damage.
“I think he skipped kitten school,” Sadie says, and I grin as I peer up at her. This is the third time he’s burned his tail on the stove.
“Instead of just being generally stupid, you mean? I can see why he was at the shelter for so long.”
She leans down and puts her hand over his kitty ears and makes a face at me. “Don’t hurt his feelings.”
