Interim(80)

“Yes?” Mrs. Walters asked, standing in the middle of the open doorway. Her eyes moved over Jeremy’s piercings. “We already bought one of those coupon booklets from a basketball player last week,” she said apologetically.

“I’m Jeremy.”

Mrs. Walters’ lips parted. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Oh?” she said faintly, and then she shoved her head farther out, looking side to side. “Your parents here? I suppose they’d like to talk to us.”

It was all Jeremy could do to keep from laughing. “Uh, no.”

“Do they know about today? Should you even be here?” Mrs. Walters asked.

How much truth should he share?

“Um, my parents are dead. I live with my employer.” Eh.

Mrs. Walters gasped. “Oh, honey!”

Jeremy shifted uncomfortably. “It’s okay. Happened years ago,” he said quickly. “I really just want to talk to Regan. If she’ll talk to me.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“I’m not upset about this morning. I mean, I’m not, like, hurt or anything. And I didn’t want her to get in trouble. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She hit you,” Mrs. Walters pointed out.

Not like it hasn’t happened before.

When Jeremy didn’t respond, she continued, “And threatened your life.”

“I know she doesn’t want to kill me.”

Mrs. Walters fidgeted with her fingers. “Jeremy, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be here.”

“I really need to talk to her,” he insisted.

“Mom,” he heard in the foyer. Mrs. Walters turned around.

“Honey, maybe you should go watch TV or something.”

“I want to talk to him.”

Mrs. Walters didn’t move.

“Alone,” Regan clarified.

“No.”

“Yes, Mom. It’s fine. I’m calm. Please, let me.”

Jeremy moved his head right to left trying to get a glimpse of her. When Mrs. Walters finally stepped aside, he took in the view of a mock mental patient. Regan was dressed in a long white sleep shirt that stopped just short of her knees. The words “I Really Don’t Care” were printed on the front in a messy scripted font. Her feet sported white tube socks and pink slippers, and her hair was pulled high atop her head in a haphazard bun.

Jeremy couldn’t contain it. The smile spread across his face, and the words fell out.

“Are they treating you okay?”

She furrowed her brows.

“Well, are they at least giving you pudding after your electroshock therapy sessions?”

The side of her mouth quirked up. She dipped her face and studied her outfit. And then she burst out laughing.

Mrs. Walters nodded to herself. All’s fine, and she left them alone, though she didn’t go too far. She disappeared to the next room over, just to be on the safe side.

“Come in,” Regan said.

Jeremy thought he’d never step foot in Regan Walters’ house. He figured such an event would be accompanied by loud fireworks, parades, and TV news anchors fighting for exclusive rights to the story. He braced himself for the emotional high, but when he stepped over the threshold, nothing exploded inside of him. It was just an ordinary home. Yes, it did house an extraordinary girl, but her freak-out this morning tempered his melodramatic perception of her. Actually, her freak-out downright scared the shit out of him.

Regan led him to the living room where Caroline sat watching TV. She looked up and smiled.

“Hi,” she said brightly.

“Hi,” Jeremy replied.

“This is my younger sister, Caroline,” Regan said. “Caroline, this is my friend, Jeremy.”

“The one you attacked this morning?” Caroline asked.

Regan sighed pleasantly. “The same.”

Caroline addressed Jeremy. “Do you have bruises? Or claw marks? Are you going to sue us? Will we have to leave our house? Is Regan going to prison?”

This girl watches waaay too much TV, he thought.

“I’m not going to prison,” Regan said patiently, like she was repeating the statement for the hundredth time.

“Are you going to sue us?” Caroline asked again. “We’re not rich,” she clarified.

Jeremy shook his head, smiling.

“Why do you have a lip ring? Do you get food caught in it when you eat?”