come here and care for your brother.”
“Don’t make me out to be a hero.” Her face heated. “I didn’t come here for him. I came to settle my mother’s affairs, such as they are. I didn’t know Nacho’s father was in prison. I had no intention of taking on a ten-year-old.”
Olivia tipped her head, like a bird spying something worth investigating. “Then why did you?”
“I couldn’t leave him to Social Services. I tried. I didn’t get ten miles out of town.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. She sipped coffee to keep her lips occupied and considered what to say next.
Olivia gave her a sweet grandmotherly smile.
Priss felt sweat gathering in the dip between her breasts. “I was in foster care for a time when I was young.” She glanced up in time to see Jesse walk into the kitchen. No cavalry to save her. Knee bouncing under the table, Priss heard her throat click as she swallowed. “Could we talk about something else?”
“Oh, I’m sorry dear, I didn’t mean to pry.” Olivia looked as if she’d just trod on someone’s blue-ribbon tulip beds.
“No, I’m sorry.” Priss watched her hands fidget with her cup. “I can be a bit...abrupt.”
“Straightforward talk is a breath of fresh air in this politically correct society. How can we discuss weighty matters if we’re afraid to be frank?” Olivia hesitated, as if considering, then set down her cup with a decisive click. “I’d like to invite you to join me and some friends of mine in our book group.” When a few drops of coffee splashed from Priss’s cup, Olivia raised a hand. “Now, it’s nothing formal, or special. We just get together once a month to discuss the book we’re reading. We usually choose books with a philosophical bent, which is why I thought you’d be interested.”
A shower of glittery sparks went off in Priss’s brain. What an opportunity! Then an M-80 exploded in her stomach. An opportunity to make an ass of yourself. She shuffled her meager repertoire of polite phrases to convey no while still sounding grateful.
Olivia said, “We read The Handmaid’s Tale last month. This month, we’re reading Lord of the Flies.”
Regret and temptation warred in her chest. “Ooh, I loved that book.”
“We’ve all read it before, of course, but I thought that it would be interesting to read it again and discuss what was new for us.”
She couldn’t possibly do it. In a roomful of cultured ladies, she’d stand out like a homeless person on a Paris runway.
But Lord of the Flies had always been one of her favorite classics. How could she resist? She squinted across the table. Maybe there wouldn’t be time to reread it, and that would be that. “When is the meeting?”
“In three weeks.”
Priss knew it would seem rude, but she had to know. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Olivia laughed a tinkling sound of amusement, soothing as wind chimes. “Oh, my dear, I have to admit to being fascinated by you. You’re such a dichotomous conundrum.”
Priss rolled the pretty words around the palette of her mind, enjoying them. What the hell. She’d already made a poor impression on the male Preston. At worst, in three weeks, his mother would share it.
It was worth taking a chance, even if imagining doing it made her hands shake. Priss smiled across the table. “I’d love to.”
Oh, I’m so going down in flames.
* * *
“A LL THE TESTS show that Ignacio is a bright child,” the principal said. “The subjects he likes, he does well in. Math and science mostly, although Mrs. Devlin tells me he shows artistic talent, as well.”
Priss sat in the elementary-school office, trying to get her head around the fact that she was there as a parent. When she’d stepped into the one-story redbrick building, her past had overtaken the present. The smell of kids, paper and the wax they polished the floor with opened a portal to the underworld of her past. She shook her head to clear it.
“What subjects isn’t he doing well
“Don’t make me out to be a hero.” Her face heated. “I didn’t come here for him. I came to settle my mother’s affairs, such as they are. I didn’t know Nacho’s father was in prison. I had no intention of taking on a ten-year-old.”
Olivia tipped her head, like a bird spying something worth investigating. “Then why did you?”
“I couldn’t leave him to Social Services. I tried. I didn’t get ten miles out of town.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. She sipped coffee to keep her lips occupied and considered what to say next.
Olivia gave her a sweet grandmotherly smile.
Priss felt sweat gathering in the dip between her breasts. “I was in foster care for a time when I was young.” She glanced up in time to see Jesse walk into the kitchen. No cavalry to save her. Knee bouncing under the table, Priss heard her throat click as she swallowed. “Could we talk about something else?”
“Oh, I’m sorry dear, I didn’t mean to pry.” Olivia looked as if she’d just trod on someone’s blue-ribbon tulip beds.
“No, I’m sorry.” Priss watched her hands fidget with her cup. “I can be a bit...abrupt.”
“Straightforward talk is a breath of fresh air in this politically correct society. How can we discuss weighty matters if we’re afraid to be frank?” Olivia hesitated, as if considering, then set down her cup with a decisive click. “I’d like to invite you to join me and some friends of mine in our book group.” When a few drops of coffee splashed from Priss’s cup, Olivia raised a hand. “Now, it’s nothing formal, or special. We just get together once a month to discuss the book we’re reading. We usually choose books with a philosophical bent, which is why I thought you’d be interested.”
A shower of glittery sparks went off in Priss’s brain. What an opportunity! Then an M-80 exploded in her stomach. An opportunity to make an ass of yourself. She shuffled her meager repertoire of polite phrases to convey no while still sounding grateful.
Olivia said, “We read The Handmaid’s Tale last month. This month, we’re reading Lord of the Flies.”
Regret and temptation warred in her chest. “Ooh, I loved that book.”
“We’ve all read it before, of course, but I thought that it would be interesting to read it again and discuss what was new for us.”
She couldn’t possibly do it. In a roomful of cultured ladies, she’d stand out like a homeless person on a Paris runway.
But Lord of the Flies had always been one of her favorite classics. How could she resist? She squinted across the table. Maybe there wouldn’t be time to reread it, and that would be that. “When is the meeting?”
“In three weeks.”
Priss knew it would seem rude, but she had to know. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Olivia laughed a tinkling sound of amusement, soothing as wind chimes. “Oh, my dear, I have to admit to being fascinated by you. You’re such a dichotomous conundrum.”
Priss rolled the pretty words around the palette of her mind, enjoying them. What the hell. She’d already made a poor impression on the male Preston. At worst, in three weeks, his mother would share it.
It was worth taking a chance, even if imagining doing it made her hands shake. Priss smiled across the table. “I’d love to.”
Oh, I’m so going down in flames.
* * *
“A LL THE TESTS show that Ignacio is a bright child,” the principal said. “The subjects he likes, he does well in. Math and science mostly, although Mrs. Devlin tells me he shows artistic talent, as well.”
Priss sat in the elementary-school office, trying to get her head around the fact that she was there as a parent. When she’d stepped into the one-story redbrick building, her past had overtaken the present. The smell of kids, paper and the wax they polished the floor with opened a portal to the underworld of her past. She shook her head to clear it.
“What subjects isn’t he doing well
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