Because It Is My Blood (Birthright #2)
Gabrielle Zevin
I
I AM RELEASED INTO SOCIETY
“COME IN, ANYA, have a seat. We find ourselves in the midst of a situation,” Evelyn Cobrawick greeted me, parting her painted red lips to reveal a cheerful sliver of yellow tooth. Was this meant to be a grin? I certainly hoped not. My fellow inmates at Liberty Children’s Facility were of the universal opinion that Mrs. Cobrawick was at her most dangerous when smiling.
It was the night before my release, and I had been summoned to the headmistress’s chambers. Through careful adherence to rules—all but one, all but once—I had managed to avoid the woman for the entire summer. “A situ—” I began.
Mrs. Cobrawick interrupted me. “Do you know what I like best about my job? It’s the girls. Watching them grow up and make better lives for themselves. Knowing that I had some small part in these rehabilitations. I truly feel as if I have thousands of daughters. It almost makes up for the fact that the former Mr. Cobrawick and I were not blessed with any children of our own.”
I was not sure how to respond to this information. “You said there was a situation?”
“Be patient, Anya. I’m getting there. I … You see, I feel very bad about the way we met. I think you may have gotten the wrong impression about me. The measures I took last fall may have seemed harsh to you at the time, but they were only to help you adjust to life at Liberty. And I think you’ll agree that my conduct was exactly right, because look what a splendid summer you’ve had here! You’ve been submissive, compliant, a model resident in every sense. One would hardly guess that you came from such a criminal background.”
This was meant as a compliment so I thanked her. I snuck a glance out Mrs. Cobrawick’s window. The night was clear, and I could just make out the tip of Manhattan. Only eighteen hours before I would be home.
“You are most welcome. I feel optimistic that your time here will serve you well in your future endeavors. Which brings us, of course, to our situation.”
I turned to look at Mrs. Cobrawick. I very much wished that she would stop referring to it as “our situation.”
“In August, you had a visitor,” she began. “A young man.”
I lied, telling her that I wasn’t sure whom she meant.
“The Delacroix boy,” she said.
“Yes. He was my boyfriend last year, but that’s done now.”
“The guard on duty that day claimed that you kissed him.” She paused to look me in the eyes. “Twice.”
“I shouldn’t have done that. He had been injured, as you probably read in my file, and I suppose I was overcome to see him well again. I apologize, Mrs. Cobrawick.”
“Yes, you did break the rules,” Mrs. Cobrawick replied. “But your infraction is understandable, I think, and human really, and can be overlooked. It probably surprises you to hear an old gorgon like me say that, but I am not without feelings, Anya.
“Before you came to Liberty in June, acting District Attorney Charles Delacroix gave me very specific instructions regarding your treatment here. Would you like me to tell you what they were?”
I wasn’t sure, but I nodded anyway.
“There were only three. The first was that I was to avoid any unnecessary personal interaction with Anya Balanchine. I don’t think you can disagree that I followed that one to the letter.”
That explained why my stay had passed in such relative peace. If I ever saw Charles Delacroix again (and I hoped I’d have no reason to), I’d be certain to thank him.
“The second was that Anya Balanchine was not to be sent to the Cellar under any circumstance.”
“And the third?” I asked.
“The third was that I was to contact him immediately if his son came to visit you. Such an event, he said, could possibly necessitate a revision to both the quality and length of Anya Balanchine’s stay at Liberty.”
I felt myself shudder at the word length. I was well aware of the promise I had made Charles Delacroix regarding his son.
“So, when the guard came to me with the news that the Delacroix boy had been to see Anya Balanchine, do you know what I decided to do?”
She—horrors!—smiled at me.
“I decided to do nothing. ‘Evie,’ I said to myself, ‘at the end of the year, you’re leaving Liberty and you don’t have to do everything they say anymore—’”
I interrupted the conversation she was having with herself to ask, “You’re leaving?”
“Yes, it seems I’ve been forced into early retirement, Anya. They’re making a huge mistake. Not anyone can run this kingdom of mine.” She waved her hand by way of changing the subject. “But as I was telling you before … ‘Evie,’ I said, ‘you don’t owe that awful Charles Delacroix a thing. Anya Balanchine is a good girl, albeit one from a very bad family, and she can’t help who does or doesn’t visit her.’”
I offered cautious thanks.
“You’re very welcome,” she replied. “Perhaps someday you’ll be able to return the favor.”
I shivered. “What is it you want, Mrs. Cobrawick?”
She laughed, then took my hand in hers and squeezed it so hard one of my knuckles cracked. “Only … I suppose I’d like to be able to call you my friend.”