The Truth About Forever(87)

I rinsed, then spit. "Right."

"You have to apologize, but don't do it right off, because it seems really ungenuine. Let her blow it out of her system, and then say you're sorry. Don't make excuses, unless you have a really valid one. Do you?"

"I was at the hospital," I said, picking up the bottle of mouthwash. If I was going down, at least I'd have nice breath. "My friend was giving birth."

"Was there not a phone there?" she asked.

"I called her!" I said.

"An hour after you were supposed to be at the picnic," she pointed out.

"God, Caroline. Whose side are you on?"

"Yours! That's why I'm helping you, can't you see?" She sighed impatiently. "The phone thing is so basic, she'll go to that right off. Don't even try to make an excuse; there isn't one. You can always find a phone. Always."

I took in a mouthful of Listerine, then glared at her.

"Tears help," she continued, leaning against the doorjamb and examining her fingernails, "but only if they're real. The fake cry only makes her more angry. Basically, you just have to ride it out. She's always really harsh at first, but once she starts talking she calms down."

"I'm not going to cry," I told her, spitting.

"And, oh, whatever you do," she said, "don't interrupt her. That's, like, lethal."

She'd barely finished this sentence when my mother's voice came from the bottom of the stairs. "Macy?" she said. "Could you come down here, please."

It wasn't a question. I looked at Caroline, who was biting her lip, as if experiencing some sort of post-traumatic flashback.

"It's okay," she said. "Take a deep breath. Remember everything I told you. And now—" she put her hands on my shoulders, squeezing them as she turned me around—"go."

I went. My mother who was waiting at the kitchen table, already dressed in her work clothes, did not look up until I sat down. Uh-oh, I thought. I put my hands on the table, folding them over each other in what I hoped was a submissive pose, and waited.

"I'm extremely disappointed in you," she said, her voice level. "Extremely."

I felt this. In my gut, which burned. In my palms, which were sweating. It was what I had worked to avoid for so long. Now it was crashing over me like a wave, and all I could do was swim up toward the surface and hope there was air there.

"Macy," she said now, and I felt myself blinking, "What happened last night was unacceptable."

"I'm sorry," I blurted, too early, but I couldn't help it. I hated how my voice sounded, shaky, not like me. The night before I'd been so brave, ready to say all and everything. Now, all I could do was sit there.

"There are going to be some changes," she said, her voice louder now. "I can't count on you to make them, so I will."

I wondered fleetingly if my sister was sitting on the steps, knees pulled to her chest, as I had been so many times, hearing her addressed this way.

"You will not be catering anymore. Period."

I felt a "but" rising in my throat, then bit it back. Ride it out, Caroline had said, the worst is always first. And Delia was going to be out of commission for awhile anyway. "Okay," I said.

"Instead," she said, dropping her hand to the arm of her chair, "you'll be working for me, at the model home, handing out brochures and greeting clients. Monday through Saturday, nine to five."

Saturday? I thought. But of course. It was the busiest day, as far as walk-in traffic went. And all the better to keep me under her thumb. I took a breath, holding it in my mouth, then let it out.

"I don't want you seeing your friends from catering," she continued. "All of the issues I have with your behavior—staying out late, showing less concern about your commitments?began when you took that job."

I kept looking at her, trying to remember everything I'd felt the night before, that sudden welling of emotion that had made me miss her so much. But each time I did, I just saw her steely, professional fa?ade, and I wondered how I could have been so mistaken.

"From now until school starts, I want you in by eight every night," she continued. "That way, we can be sure that you'll be home and rested enough to focus on preparing for the school year."

"Eight?" I said.

She leveled her gaze at me, and I saw my sister was right. Interruptions were lethal. "It could be seven," she said. "If you'd prefer."

I looked down at my hands, silent, shaking my head. All around us the house was so quiet, as if it, too, was just waiting for this to be over.

"You have half a summer left," she said to me, as I studied my thumbnail, the tiny lines running along it. "It's up to you how it goes. Do you understand?"

I nodded, again. When she didn't say anything for a minute I looked up to see her watching me, waiting for a real answer. "Yes," I said. "I understand."

"Good." She pushed back her chair and stood up, smoothing her skirt. As she passed behind me, she said, "I'll see you at the model home in an hour."

I just sat there, listening to her heels clack across the kitchen, then go mute as she hit the carpet, heading to her office. I stayed in place as she gathered her briefcase, then called out a good-bye to Caroline as she left, the door shutting with a quiet thud behind her.