an ounce of hatred. Slowly, Paris slid her small hand into his big paw. He gave her hand a warm shake, then stood up.
“Sienna tells me she hopes the two of you are going to be good friends, so it’s nice to finally meet you,” he said. “And your parents.”
Paris glanced up at Mrs. Lincoln, who gave her a secret wink. Paris nodded, turning to Sienna. The girl’s smile had faded a little. She looked as if she might be holding her breath.
Good friends, huh?
thought Paris.
I don’t know.
The adults chatted with one another while Paris thought, long and hard. She thought about the world of hurt Ashley had caused her. Then she thought about what Mrs. Lincoln had said.
Take every person as she comes. Judge each one by her actions.
So far, Sienna’s actions had been fine, surprising as a spring rain, maybe, but just as soft, too.
Paris polished off her lemonade and headed back to the refreshment table across the room. Midway, she stopped and turned around.
“Well, you coming or not?” she said to Sienna. “I’m about to die of thirst here.”
Sienna’s smile curved as wide and bright as a crescent moon. She bolted from her father’s side and caught up with her friend.
The two girls wandered around together for the rest of the evening.
Chapter 35
PHONE CALL
A lot can happen in a year. Life can become normal, an address can become more than numbers on a piece of paper, and family can become more than just a word in the dictionary.
Paris woke to the honeyed scent of lilacs wafting through her window. Her bedroom was tiny as ever, but the room seemed friendlier. It was no longer a strange place. It was hers. The room, the house, everyone under its roof, and even the scent of lilacs. All were hers, now.
Viola was also hers, but in an arm’s-length sort of way. Her birth mother had her life in the city, and Paris had her life in Ossining. She and Malcolm stayed connected through letters mostly. She wished that they were still together,but she was old enough to understand that wasn’t a decision she got to make.
“Get up, lazybones,” Paris told herself. “Or you’ll be late for the last week of school.” She rolled out of bed and got ready for the day.
The hours swam by, caught in the current of the ordinary: class, lunch with Sienna, and the noisy car ride home with David play-punching her in the backseat. Before Paris could blink, it was dinnertime and her turn to lay out the knives and forks.
Paris made a detour to the backyard. She clipped a few lilacs for the table and propped them up in a jelly jar full of water. The dash of color was exactly what the table needed.
Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs, her favorite. She couldn’t wait to dig in. First, though, she had to bow her head while Mr. Lincoln said grace. Jordan kicked her under the table, being his usual pest of a little brother. Paris didn’t give him away, but if looks could kill, let’s just say her eyes were busy doing damage during that prayer.
“Amen,” said Mr. Lincoln in his deep voice.
Mrs. Lincoln spooned up the spaghetti while Paris retrieved the hot garlic bread from the oven. She was salivating by the time she finally settled back into her seat, and dove into the mountain of spaghetti on her plate. Thatwas when the phone rang. It was Viola. Paris took a bite of garlic bread, then went to the phone.
“Hi,” she said. Paris hadn’t heard from Viola in a long time, but she was okay with that. She’d given up being angry with her mom, or she’d be mad all the time, and what good would that do?
“Hello, sweetheart! How are you?”
“Fine,” said Paris. “But we’re eating dinner, Mom.”
“I know, I know,” said Viola. “And I know I haven’t called in a while, and I’m sorry. But I have something important to tell you.”
Paris felt her throat tighten. “Is it Malcolm? Is something wrong?”
“No! No, Malcolm’s fine,” Viola assured her. “But I
am
calling about Malcolm. And about you. And about
“Sienna tells me she hopes the two of you are going to be good friends, so it’s nice to finally meet you,” he said. “And your parents.”
Paris glanced up at Mrs. Lincoln, who gave her a secret wink. Paris nodded, turning to Sienna. The girl’s smile had faded a little. She looked as if she might be holding her breath.
Good friends, huh?
thought Paris.
I don’t know.
The adults chatted with one another while Paris thought, long and hard. She thought about the world of hurt Ashley had caused her. Then she thought about what Mrs. Lincoln had said.
Take every person as she comes. Judge each one by her actions.
So far, Sienna’s actions had been fine, surprising as a spring rain, maybe, but just as soft, too.
Paris polished off her lemonade and headed back to the refreshment table across the room. Midway, she stopped and turned around.
“Well, you coming or not?” she said to Sienna. “I’m about to die of thirst here.”
Sienna’s smile curved as wide and bright as a crescent moon. She bolted from her father’s side and caught up with her friend.
The two girls wandered around together for the rest of the evening.
Chapter 35
PHONE CALL
A lot can happen in a year. Life can become normal, an address can become more than numbers on a piece of paper, and family can become more than just a word in the dictionary.
Paris woke to the honeyed scent of lilacs wafting through her window. Her bedroom was tiny as ever, but the room seemed friendlier. It was no longer a strange place. It was hers. The room, the house, everyone under its roof, and even the scent of lilacs. All were hers, now.
Viola was also hers, but in an arm’s-length sort of way. Her birth mother had her life in the city, and Paris had her life in Ossining. She and Malcolm stayed connected through letters mostly. She wished that they were still together,but she was old enough to understand that wasn’t a decision she got to make.
“Get up, lazybones,” Paris told herself. “Or you’ll be late for the last week of school.” She rolled out of bed and got ready for the day.
The hours swam by, caught in the current of the ordinary: class, lunch with Sienna, and the noisy car ride home with David play-punching her in the backseat. Before Paris could blink, it was dinnertime and her turn to lay out the knives and forks.
Paris made a detour to the backyard. She clipped a few lilacs for the table and propped them up in a jelly jar full of water. The dash of color was exactly what the table needed.
Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs, her favorite. She couldn’t wait to dig in. First, though, she had to bow her head while Mr. Lincoln said grace. Jordan kicked her under the table, being his usual pest of a little brother. Paris didn’t give him away, but if looks could kill, let’s just say her eyes were busy doing damage during that prayer.
“Amen,” said Mr. Lincoln in his deep voice.
Mrs. Lincoln spooned up the spaghetti while Paris retrieved the hot garlic bread from the oven. She was salivating by the time she finally settled back into her seat, and dove into the mountain of spaghetti on her plate. Thatwas when the phone rang. It was Viola. Paris took a bite of garlic bread, then went to the phone.
“Hi,” she said. Paris hadn’t heard from Viola in a long time, but she was okay with that. She’d given up being angry with her mom, or she’d be mad all the time, and what good would that do?
“Hello, sweetheart! How are you?”
“Fine,” said Paris. “But we’re eating dinner, Mom.”
“I know, I know,” said Viola. “And I know I haven’t called in a while, and I’m sorry. But I have something important to tell you.”
Paris felt her throat tighten. “Is it Malcolm? Is something wrong?”
“No! No, Malcolm’s fine,” Viola assured her. “But I
am
calling about Malcolm. And about you. And about
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