“What?”
She twists toward me. “I was only a child.”
I’m too surprised to reply. What do I say? I didn’t want to leave Audrey with Mother, but I couldn’t take her with me. And she wouldn’t have come. She was under Mom’s spell. I had to save myself. Maybe that was selfish.
Loud ringing fills the car, the display on the dash flashing Mother’s number. Audrey swipes it away with a quick move of her finger.
I open the door to step out.
“Wait, Viv.”
The phone rings again. “You better get that.” I slam the door shut.
The cold air stings my hot cheeks as I stalk inside. The sun is bright, reflecting against the white snow, and I squint against the glare.
I don’t know why I’m upset. Just because Mom is calling her doesn’t mean anything. But it’s a reminder that it’s always been Audrey and Mother, conspiring against me.
Audrey could be telling her every detail of my life.
I follow the signs to the principal’s office, right off the main entrance. The receptionist’s office is empty, the desk wiped clean, except for a phone and computer. Across from the desk sit a couple of padded chairs for visitors, the arms worn with age and a thousand elbows.
Carter’s door is propped open, and a glass window separates his office from the one I’m in. The low hum of his voice leaks into the quiet room.
“—I understand, Mrs. Donnelly. We will work with him. He’s not in trouble, he just needs a little more support in class.”
A pause.
“He’s a good kid. He has a lot of energy and some questionable timing, but we’ll figure it out together.”
Not wanting to disturb him, I sit in one of the empty chairs and wait.
Carter is handsome. Dark hair, strong jaw, patrician nose softened by the glasses.
Not as handsome as Spencer. Dammit, I was doing so well not thinking about him. I think it’s been at least twenty minutes.
He hangs up the phone. “Hey. Come on in.”
I move into his office, sitting across from him in a replica of the chair I was just in.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “I don’t have much of an admin staff right now, so it’s been nonstop.”
“It’s fine. Thanks for seeing me.”
He leans back in the seat. “What did you need to talk about?”
“I need a favor. Sort of.”
His brows lift, waiting.
“I want to teach a dance class. Here. At the school.”
He sits up straighter, reaching for a pen. “A dance class? I’m not sure that’s in our budget, but I can have the board?—”
I wave a hand. “No cost. I would do it for free. It doesn’t need to be ongoing, just one night.”
“Oh. Okay.” He grabs a pad of paper and pulls it to him. “Why?”
“It has to do with Beverly’s last wishes.”
