All in all, I’d dealt fairly well with my recovery. I’d finished school with decent grades. Got accepted to college. Kept the business running and the bills paid while my parents struggled to regain their bearings.
But that door! That hateful door. It accused me of self-delusion. Taunted me with how fragile my control was. Reminded me of the ways I’d let down my twin.
And that final, epic failure? Its guilt lurked within.
Why was it that hisbedroomupset me? He’d spent his final days in the sunroom, yet I’d walked in or through that room countless times since he breathed his last there.
My psychiatrist had encouraged me to rip off the bandage and open this door. I’d stopped going to her. One day I would be ready, but not yet.
Springing to my feet, I ran into my room and slammed the door. I needed a diversion.Now.
Read a book? Stream a TV show?
No, I felt too restless to stay still for hours.
My iPad waited on my dresser. I hadn’t taken it with me on the DC trip, preferring to be off-line for a few days. It was time to catch up. I grabbed the tablet, flopped into a papasan chair, and logged in.
As I scanned through my email, I deleted the junk that had slipped through the spam filter. I smiled as I read a chatty note from my grandmother, complete with photos of her and Grandpa in Yosemite National Park. Lacey had checked in, to make sure that I got back okay, so I sent a quick response. Then I frowned in surprise at the next message. It was from the Admissions Office at Piedmont College, marked Urgent. I clicked it open.
Dear Ms. Tucker,
When we offered you admission to Piedmont College in April, it was contingent on the successful completion of your senior year. We have reviewed your final high school transcript and are dismayed to see a marked decline in your GPA. Of particular concern is the D you received in French III. It is a requirement for admission, and we can only accept credits with a C or higher.
We recognize that there can be extenuating circumstances that might cause students to struggle in their final semester. If you wish to provide an explanation, please respond to this email by July 1. In the interim, we have suspended your admission.
Chills rocked through me as I tried to take this in. I’d completely earned that D in French, due to not turning in homework and blowing the final exam. Since I hadn’t needed a world language to graduate from high school, I hadn’t thought too much about it. Clearly, I’d forgotten that Piedmont cared.
Okay, no need to panic. I could fix this. Probably.
First, I wanted to understand what “suspended” meant. I opened the Piedmont website, looked on their admissions FAQ page, and…Wow. I read the answer multiple times, breaking it into pieces so that I could grasp what I was facing.
Basically, I was on a special type of waitlist. My slot would be held until the middle of July. With a satisfactory explanation, I would be either reinstated or put on academic probation. Otherwise, my admission would be rescinded.
The worst part was my eligibility for housing. It was on hold too. If the residence halls filled early, I could miss out, and I really wanted to live on campus. Part of the college experience was going.Away.
Well, I’d wanted a diversion, and I’d definitely gotten one. I had an explanation to write.
When I went downstairs on Wednesday morning, Mom sat at the bar, her hands wrapped around a mug.
“Mornin’, Sara. There’s coffee ready.”
“Thanks.” I poured a cup and slipped onto the stool beside her. “Dad says you gave away my supply of cookies.”
Her smile was faint. “They disappeared in five minutes.”
“I’m glad the kids enjoyed them. Do you want me to make more?”
“No, I only volunteered for one night.”
“Okay.” There was nothing left to wring from that topic. I tapped my fingers on the countertop, not wanting this conversation to die but not sure what was safe to say.
“Did you have a good time in Washington, sweetheart?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was great. Not too crowded.”
“See anyone famous?”
“We met both of our senators, if you count them.” I waited for a reaction, but she was frowning at her watch, her attention already elsewhere. “Is Dad driving you to the shop today?”
