The Problem with Forever(20)

I thought about that car in the parking lot, and I wondered if Hector and Jayden were included in that shady people definition.

“Anyway, I’ve got to go to practice.” She paused, looking hopeful. “I couldn’t convince you to swing by and see what you think?”

Shaking my head, I bit back a grin at Keira’s dramatic sigh. She wiggled her fingers and started to turn as I forced my tongue and lips to work. “See you...at lunch tomorrow?”

Okay. That was stupid, because I’d see her in English before lunch, but she nodded. “Yep. Bring Rider with you if you want. We could always use some hotness at the table.”

Hopefully, Rider would be in class tomorrow during lunch, but after what Keira said, that sounded doubtful. Part of me wasn’t surprised by the fact that he did what he wanted whenever he wanted. That was so him, but just like when we were younger, that willful side of him always got him in a load of trouble.

*

After I got off the computer with Ainsley, dinner was just hitting the table. Four years ago? I hadn’t eaten at a dinner table. Not even once. This table, with its polished wood surface, was the first I ever ate at outside school.

I sat down, smoothing my hands over the surface. When I first came home with the Rivases, I had felt like...like an animal. Wild. Uncomfortable. Caged. Unsure. They had expectations and schedules. They complimented and praised—both me and each other. There hadn’t been a specified dinnertime at Mr. Henry’s house nor had there been a plate of food waiting for Rider and me. We ate whatever was leftover. That was if anything was leftover. More often than not, there hadn’t been.

Sitting down at a table in the evening and listening to Carl and Rosa actually speak to each other instead of yell and curse had been a new experience for me. The kitchen table in my last home had been covered with cigarette burn marks and unread newspapers. Mr. Henry brought one with him every evening after completing his shift at a local packaging and receiving warehouse, but I’d never seen him read one.

But this table was almost always clear and had a centerpiece that changed with the seasons. Now the plastic blue-and-white flowers, along with the glass-encased pillar candle, sat on the counter.

It was rare that during the week both Rosa and Carl would be home for supper, and I knew they’d both be out of the house again in no time. As long as there were no emergency surgeries over the weekend, they always had Saturday and Sunday off.

“I was thinking we could go down to the Harbor on Saturday.” Carl prodded his pork chop apart, almost like he was dissecting it. He loved heading to the Harbor in downtown Baltimore. “I believe there’s some kind of fair being held there this weekend.”

Rosa sipped her glass of water. “Or we could go to Catoctin. It’s supposed to be really nice, a little cooler.” She grinned at her husband. “And we’d spend less money going to a park where people aren’t going to be selling something.”

She was really into the outdoorsy stuff—hiking, mountain biking, sweating. In other words, experiencing some form of pain. I was really into reading, sitting and not collecting sweat in places where sweat should not pool. Carl glanced at me, placing his fingers over his mouth to hide his grin.

“What do you think, Mallory?” Rosa asked.

I shrugged as I speared a piece of broccoli with my fork. If we went to Catoctin, I’d probably end the day with muscles I didn’t even know existed hurting. “Ainsley wanted to get together this weekend.”

“Then definitely the Harbor.” Carl lowered his hand, not even trying to hide his smile. “The last time we took her to a park, I’m sure it was the first and last time she’d been to one.”

My lips curved into a smile as Rosa rolled her eyes. Plans were made to spend the afternoon on the Harbor, which would definitely make Ainsley happy.

“Have you been carving?” Rosa asked, toying with the glass. “You haven’t asked me to pick up any soap.”

My gaze flew to her. I hadn’t done any carvings since July, roughly around the time I mentally began preparing for—aka stressing over—school.

Carl eyed me. “You really should practice. You don’t want to lose that talent.”

I almost laughed. Carving things out of bars of soap with pencils or Popsicle sticks really wasn’t something I’d consider a talent. It was just something I’d done...well, for as long as I could remember, whenever I was alone. Rider didn’t even know I used to do it. Once I finished carving something, I used to destroy it.

Now Carl and Rosa kept most of my creations, over three dozen, in the dining room, stashed away in the glass china cabinet that smelled like Irish Spring.

The funny thing is that the whole odd soap-carving hobby was what really had caught Carl’s attention while I’d been at Johns Hopkins. He’d seen so many burn victims, so many kids, so it wasn’t my winning personality that had drawn him. Even with toasted and sore, bandaged fingers, I’d snuck the soap bar out of the bathroom and, using a tongue depressor I’d snagged from one of the nurses, I’d carved a sleeping cat over the course of a few days.

I don’t know what it was about carving something, but it was always a source of...of peace. I thought the talent was kind of lame, and Rosa and Carl had been trying for eons to get me to move on to wood with no luck.

“Speaking of big accomplishments, you’ve survived your first two days at school,” Carl said, clearly sensing they were getting nowhere on the soap front. “Want to tell us how it’s going?”