The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(21)

I would simply roll my eyes and say, "Oh, Mom. He'll get over it."

And then my mom and I would share a laugh as she brought over my friend of choice and lovingly tuck him in next to me before kissing me good night. As the years passed I became less and less interested in stuffed animals. And by the time I was twelve my mother couldn't pay me to sleep next to one.

"Mom," I would say in a warning tone when every once in a while she would ask me if I wanted to play our beloved nighttime selection game again... just for old time's sake. "If word ever got out that I sleep with a stuffed fish named Frank, my reputation would be ruined."

My mom would then shake her head and laugh. "I'll bet every single girl at your school has a secret animal that she sleeps with." But I never believed her. There was no way I was ever going to fit in with the popular eighth-graders at school next year if I was still acting like a five-year-old at home.



BUT THEN one night, everything changed. Everything became different.

And everything would remain different from that night on.

My mom had gone away to visit my grandmother in Chicago, who I was told was having an operation on her knee.

"Her knee is getting too old for her to use, so they have to give her a new one," my mom had explained to me as we drove her to the airport.

"A new one?" I asked in a snotty voice, trying to maintain my usual "I could care less about anything my parents say" attitude.

"Yes, they're going to take her knee out and replace it with a metal one."

"They can do that?" I blurted out in amazement, and then quickly regained my cool. "I mean... that's kind of weird."

"Fortunately for Grandma, they can," my mom said, reaching back and gently patting my own healthy knee.

"Well, why can't I come?" I asked, folding my arms defiantly across my chest. As much as I wanted to be the cool preteen girl who didn't care where her mom traveled to or how long she would be gone, I still didn't like the thought of being away from her.

"Because Daddy needs you to stay here and keep him company."

I rolled my eyes and groaned loudly enough for both of them to hear. I so wished my parents would start talking to me like an adult and not a twelve-year-old. But deep down, my mother's comment made me feel needed. And I liked that. Without saying another word, I settled into the decision that maybe I should stick around and serve my civic duty as "only child."

My dad had been married once before. A long time ago. He had a daughter with his first wife. But I rarely ever saw my half-sister Julia, except at large family gatherings. I didn't really mind our infrequent contact, though. I always got the feeling that she didn't really care for me all that much. Which was probably true. She was ten years older than me, and looking back on it now that I'm almost thirty, I can understand how the new baby from the new wife could be a bit of a downer.

So as far as I was concerned, it was just Mom, Dad, and me. And I had absolutely no complaints about that. I enjoyed being an only child. Most only children beg for siblings, but after seeing how much Julia resented me, I was content not having any.

But as it turned out, my dad didn't really need me there to keep him company. He had to go to a business dinner that same night, and instead I was stuck with the babysitter, a twenty-year-old college student named Elizabeth who my mother had recruited from my summer camp two years earlier. She had been a counselor there and, as my mom explained to me after a lengthy discussion with the camp director one day, was "very responsible and trustworthy."

"Why do I have to have a babysitter?" I argued with my dad.

"We've been through this, Jenny," he warned. "You can stay home alone when you're thirteen, but not twelve."

"I'll be thirteen in nine months!" I shouted back. "I don't really see how nine months can make all that much of a difference."

But there was usually no arguing with my father. And I would have called my mom and let her argue for me, but I knew that she wouldn't have taken my side on this one. Thirteen had always been the magic year to look forward to in my life. It was when I was promised to have my own phone line, my own TV, and the ability to stay home without a dreaded babysitter there to tell me what to do.

For the most part, Elizabeth was perfectly nice and pleasant to be around. And I always admired her good looks and sense of style, hoping that one day I would grow up to look and dress similarly, but at this stage of my life she represented another chain that locked me to my youth while all my friends were being allowed to grow up.

And to make matters worse, Elizabeth would send me to bed at ten o'clock. She never let me stay up late. You would think that being not so far removed from the awkward preteen years herself she would be empathetic to my struggle and understand the pure exhilaration you experience when you're allowed to stay up past your normal bedtime. It was like every five minutes of forbidden awake-ness was equivalent to five extra years tacked onto your age.

But she would simply wait by the door as I got into bed, switch off the light, and then hurry back downstairs, eager to return to whatever show was blaring from the TV, and, of course, whomever she was blabbing to on the phone.

After she left I would usually sulk in my bed for about five minutes before drifting off to sleep to the faint sounds of her laughter and gossip mixed with late-night infomercials.