with Kayla now. “I held her room for her! I stored all her
clothes! Someone needs to pay for that.”
“No one is giving you any more money, Mom. Least
of all me. Maybe you can con some of your other grand-
children, but I’ll warn Joylene about you, at least. God
knows how many others there are at this point.”
“You listen here, you little—”
“No, you listen. I didn’t even tell Kayla that you gave Little Dog’s name to that thug. She doesn’t know about
that. Do you want me to tell her?”
Her face twists, freezing in an ugly mask for a mo-
ment before she smooths it out into helplessness. “I didn’t know he was dangerous.”
“That boy is dead, by the way, so your judgment is
hopelessly skewed. You’d better drop it right now, lady.”
Miraculously, she does. She takes two short steps to
the trailer, then glances to me as if she’s worried I’ll steal everything if she turns her back. I’m not even sure what
she’s going to try to pull with Kayla, but I remember
now how she tried to sabotage my escape to college. She
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threw away letters from Minnesota. Told me she got a
call that I’d been rejected after all.
Some sort of fear of abandonment, maybe. Who cares?
My eye catches one last time on that crack in my old
bedroom window. I remember the rage behind it. The
bloodlust.
“What was his name?” I ask.
“What?” my mom asks, her hands fluttering. “Who?”
“That man. Your boarder. He told me to call him Uncle
Pete, but he wasn’t related to anyone I know. What was his
name?” Maybe I’ll look him up. Maybe he’s still around. He
seemed old at the time, but fifty could have been ancient
to a little girl. He could very well be alive and kicking.
“Pete? ” She scowls. “I don’t know. Low? Lowell?
Something like that. Haven’t seen him around in years.”
“Maybe he was sent to jail for raping little girls, Mom.”
“Oh Lord,” she mutters. “You keep that filth to your-
self. Climbing all over that man like he was your daddy.”
My filth. The filth of a seven-year-old girl who just
wanted to be safe and warm. Monster that I am, they’re
lucky I didn’t burn them all alive in that goddamn trailer.
I cock my head because … I still could. I stare at that
window, which I cracked in that rage tantrum when I
was ten because I hated everyone. It wasn’t my fist. I’m
not that self-sacrificing. It was my brother’s stupid remote control for his stupid toy truck that he’d run straight into my back on Christmas morning.
My parents had told me they didn’t have money for
gifts and I was a nasty little bitch anyway. All I’d gotten was a set of cheap flavored lip gloss and a fake Barbie doll from the thrift store. My teenage brother, on the other
hand, got the exact RC monster truck he’d wanted.
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He ran it into me all day long, leaving bruises on
my legs and back. Then he offered to let me “play with
it” while pointing at his crotch. “Five minutes for five
minutes.” My mother just laughed.
The minute he went outside to sneak a cigarette, I
stole the remote and threw it at the wall hard enough to
break it. Then I threw it again. And again. Until it finally ricocheted off the window with a satisfying snap. At the
time, I wished I’d cracked his head instead of the glass. I still do. I wish I’d cracked them all open.
That old trailer is packed with trash and could easily
ignite and spread flames to the brand-new trailer next to
it, still stinking of flammable chemicals. Spread to the elderly woman inside and her stroke-victim husband, unable
to navigate out in the smoke and heat. A clean slate. For
me and Kayla and the rest of the goddamn world who’ve
been subjected to these people for almost seventy years.
But no.
Not worth it. I have a real life now. A gorgeous con-
do and a beautiful cat and a new car and a niece full
of promise, not to mention a successful boyfriend who
wants more. The fucking American dream. Everything
my mother will never have.
So when Kayla emerges with a duffel bag packed with
belongings, I leave my mother behind, still screeching and
cursing about what I owe her. I leave her behind because
I don’t owe her shit except revenge, and she’s not even
worth that anymore.
268
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I watch her like I’m bingeing a fascinating new tele-
vision show. She changes personality with her wardrobe.
Today Kayla is wearing her traveling outfit: sleek black
jean leggings and a stylishly slashed pink T-shirt. The girl is already hooked on shopping, but I’ve made clear she’ll be getting a job soon to cover some of those costs.
“A real job,” I cautioned, and she smiled sweetly. Lord
save me from the machinations of a child monster.
She’s softened the twang of her accent as if she’s
a wealthy Dallas teenager who’s accustomed to plane
rides and airport smoothies, but I see her wide eyes. All
the wonder of a five-year-old with none of the innocence.
“This is business class,” I explain as we board the
plane and find our seats.
“Not first?”
“First class is something you can discover on your own
dime. I think these seats should be sufficiently comfort-
able for your narrow ass.”
She shoots a squint toward the leather seats in front
of us. “I thought they were going to be cool capsules
anyway. Those just look like Grandpa’s ugly recliner.”
“You’ve seen too many commercials,” I mutter, but
she’s already ignoring me to poke around on the in-flight
entertainment system. I feel like a real mom now.
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Victoria Helen Stone
Just kidding. This is much easier to do without guilt
or worry. As soon as we’re in the air, I get out my laptop
and get some work done on my new cases. I can’t wait to
be back in the office, kicking some ass. It’s a new Rob-
free era, and I’m ready to shine!
She maintains her air of boredom as we take off and
rise into the sky. When the flight attendant comes by,
Kayla orders a Coke, then demands all three snacks when
offered a choice. I feel tingles of affection when the woman grudgingly hands Kayla peanuts, pretzels, and a granola bar. Finally, someone I can actually relate to.
Ninety minutes later, I reach past Kayla to open the
window shade. “Look down,” I say.
“Huh. What’s all that water? Flooding?”
“Land of Ten Thousand Lakes.”
She looks at me blankly.
“That’s what Minnesota is called. The Land of Ten
Thousand Lakes. You’ll like it.”
“Whatever,” she says, but I notice her sneaking looks
out the window as we turn into the descent. It’s new and
different, and that will be enough to keep her interest
for a little while. Then there will be a new house, a new
school, n
ew people. This should be easy.
“Do I really have to sleep on the couch?” she asks suddenly.
“Just for a few weeks. I’ll find a new place.”
“I could take your bed and you could stay with your
boyfriend. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure, invite over anyone you want and trash the place.”
“I’d be good,” she promises with big eyes.
“Girl, please.”
“I need privacy.” Her voice rises a little. “I don’t even
know you! You could be taking me out of state to traffic
me! I’ve seen Dateline!”
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Problem Child
I notice the woman in the next seat stiffen and turn
toward us, so I pitch my voice higher too. “I know
you’re scared, and this will be hard, but you’ll get the
treatment you need at the institution and they’ll make
sure you don’t start any more fires, Kayla. We can’t bring
your parents back, but we can make sure you don’t hurt
anyone else.”
Kayla stares at me. I stare back. Finally, she breaks
into loud laughter and I join in. This girl.
“Don’t try that again,” I warn, and she gives me a
thumbs-up. Teenagers like to test boundaries. Even I
know that.
“I don’t expect you to be normal,” I say more quietly.
“I’d be disappointed if you were. Believe it or not, we
can be friends.”
She snorts in scorn.
“I’m like you,” I say with less patience now. “That’s
important.”
“We’ll see.”
I take a deep breath and remind myself that I don’t
trust people either. It’s the only smart way to get through life. “Yes,” I say. “We’ll see.” I can be patient for a month or two. Probably. Maybe. She’ll learn to trust me. And
then we’ll have each other.
We’re off the plane and walking into the baggage
claim area when I spot him. Luke.
He’s holding two bouquets of flowers and a stupid
balloon that says “Welcome Home!” What an idiot. He
spots me, his worried mouth flashing into a happy grin,
and I feel it. I feel it. A tiny bubble of pure joy that rises up unexpectedly in my chest.
I’m relieved he’s here. I’m happy to see him. And it’s
not even about sex.
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“Jane!” he calls out, as if I weren’t looking straight at
him. What an adorable dork.
Rushing toward us, he hands me a bouquet of gor-
geous dark red dahlias, and if that isn’t the perfect flower for me, I don’t know what is. Kayla, on the other hand,
is handed a bouquet of brightly colored gerbera daisies,
and I laugh in delight at the mismatch with her mean
personality. She scowls down at her gift.
“Kayla, I’m Luke. It’s so great to finally meet you.”
“Yeah.” When I narrow my eyes in warning, she tries
again. “Great! Hi, Uncle Luke!”
His smile twitches the tiniest bit, but he nods. “How
was the trip?”
I shift my flowers to the other hand and put my arm
around Kayla. “It was Kayla’s first plane ride.”
“Exciting!” he says cheerily.
“Yeah,” she responds. “Supercool.”
I turn her slightly toward the baggage area. “Kayla, why
don’t you go wait for your bag. It’s baggage claim three.”
“Whatever you want, Auntie Jane.” She smacks her
gum and flip-flops off toward the crowd.
Turning back to Luke, I raise my eyebrows high. “A
balloon and everything?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” he scolds, but he’s grinning
past his blush.
“Never.”
“It’s so good to see you.” And then he hugs me. A
huge hug, pulling me tight into his arms, and for once I
don’t pull immediately away.
I like taking care of shit, and I’m good at it. I like be-
ing in complete control. But it doesn’t hurt to know that
someone could take care of me if I needed it, especially
because I know I won’t need it.
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Problem Child
He loves me. And I want to keep him, so maybe I
truly love him too. After all, other people can be selfish
and mean and do terrible things, and that doesn’t mean
they can’t feel love.
Am I so different?
“She’s kind of a handful,” I say into his chest.
“It’s okay. You’ll figure it out.” Then he pulls back
and looks down at me. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
Together. I’ve never had that. Even when my best
friend was alive, we both knew that any plans made could
be broken up by the arrival of the right man, whether
that was a cab ride home for a quick lay or a long-term
relationship arriving to mess up a lease. But Luke says
we’ll figure it out together, and we will.
I was running from that when I left. But now I want
it. I want it all.
I want to look at houses with him, pretending I’m the
nervous wife and he’s the strong husband. He’ll try not
to laugh when I go on and on about all the baking I’ll
do for our three kids. He’ll blush when I whisper that we
need extra space for our “adult playroom” just to watch
the real estate agent’s reaction. The game will be so much
more fun with him than it would be alone.
I’ll leave our sullen teenager at home, don’t worry.
her selfish input.
Maybe it can all be fun. Maybe I can play my way
through suburbia, carving out exactly the path I want to
walk as I teach Kayla what she needs to learn. And maybe,
just maybe, my sharp and shriveled heart will be enough.
273
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Are you settled in?” I ask, standing in the doorway of
Kayla’s new bedroom in my new house.
“I think I’ll survive,” she says flatly.
It’s our first night here, though we spent a little time
hanging around the empty rooms this past week, plan-
ning out colors and furniture. She chose gray walls with
purple accents, along with a matte black four-poster bed
that looks like it belongs in a modern high-rise apartment, especially with the white comforter and piles of accent
pillows. I would’ve killed for a room like this at her age.
She’s put one thing up on the wall: a poster of Harley
Quinn from some Batman movie. Her few moving boxes
are still piled in a corner near the closet. I assume she’ll be living out of them for a while, because she hasn’t touched
them in the three hours she’s been holed up in here.
It’s a small house, not in the suburbs after all, but in
a nice part of the city with a great high school. I stroll
over to look out her window, but there’s not much of a
view this time of year. A fence shaded by the neighbor’s
evergreen, but the maple trees are bare.
Her bedroom is near the kitchen, toward the front of
the house. Our master bedroom, added in a renovation
to the tiny 1940s home, is at the back of the house, we
ll
away from her prying eyes and ears.
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Problem Child
The house is mine, though Luke is here too. We de-
cided I should be the one to buy, since I’m the one with
a family to raise. I’m not charging Luke rent or anything.
He’s my boyfriend, after all. He considered renting out
his condo in St. Paul, but in the end he sold it. I’m glad
he did. I don’t like the idea of him having an easy out. I
want him here.
I did keep him in mind when choosing my home. He
really likes this neighborhood, and his brother’s house
is only a five-minute drive away, so he can see his little
niece anytime.
Don’t worry. I’ve made absolutely clear that Kayla is
not to be asked to babysit. That kind of trouble is the last thing I need. It’s been rough enough finally getting her
settled into school. She accidentally tested into advanced
math before she realized she should have thrown the test.
Poor baby. She’s smarter than she wants to be.
She’s also really hating Spanish class, but the counselor
insisted that a language is essential for those “on the college track.” Kayla fought it, but there she is in Spanish class
anyway, being actively resentful. The instructor is a man,
so I’ll have to keep an eye on things so it doesn’t go off
the rails. Otherwise she’s in all the normal classes, though woodshop seems like it will turn out to be a mistake. I’d
hate to see this girl around power tools.
Overall, the past month has been … dare I say nice?
As if to support that characterization, my cat hops onto
the windowsill in front of me and purrs, gazing out at
the world beyond the glass along with me. She’s in cat
heaven with empty boxes everywhere, so I think she’s
enjoying the new family situation too.
I take a moment to scratch her chin before glancing
back toward Kayla.
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Victoria Helen Stone
It has been nice. I’m sure of it. She plays along with my cozy relationship with Luke, sending me secret smiles
when he’s turned away. She doesn’t give a damn about
him, of course, but she’s mostly polite or at least tolerant.
Luke, on the other hand, is over-the-top friendly
with her, like a friend’s dad from a sitcom. It’s funny to
watch. He’s adorably eager and he’s doing his best. So am
I, honestly, though I don’t have to try too hard. Kayla is
fine. And she’s smart. And I’m a sociopath. I just don’t