Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5), стр. 36
Maybe I was just a stupid fucking needy woman.
* * *
That evening at home, I had Sarah in the kitchen while I made dinner—even though she just wanted to hide in her bedroom. “How was your first day back at school?
“Fine.”
Oh, God. It was all I could do not to lose my shit with the one-word answers that didn’t actually mean anything—but losing my shit wouldn’t help Sarah, not one bit. “What happened today? How did the kids treat you?” Finally, I sat at the table so I could give her my undivided attention.
At first, she screwed her mouth up, but I could tell she was going to give me a real answer this time. “Some bitches were teasing me a little.” Before I could get after her, she said, “Sorry, mom, but that’s what they are. That’s the nicest word I can think of to describe them. And some other kids said it was cool that I started the fire.”
“You know it’s not cool.”
“Yeah, I know. By the end of the day, no one else said anything.”
“You don’t think anyone’s going to hold it against you?” After all, my kid wasn’t fitting in at middle school. The last thing she needed was for this incident to become an albatross.
“No. Most of them thought it was cool. And they were jealous ‘cause I got the week off.”
“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
“No.” Of course not. “But I have a bunch of homework now.”
“Do you need any help with it? Or do you need me to call the school and ask for more time?”
“No, my teachers said I have till Friday to get it all done.”
“All right.” As I returned to dinner preparation, I was relieved that, at least, my child and I had had a conversation that wasn’t as one-sided as usual…and, perhaps, she was going to be okay at school. That felt like a burden lifting off my shoulders.
* * *
Tuesday was a clusterfuck of a day. And that clusterfuckery started at work.
I had a worker to supervise whose shift started that afternoon, a middle-aged brunette named Rochelle who loved to talk.
Way too fucking much.
While we both were available to check out customers, I put her to work putting clearance stickers on some items at the counter while I filled out paperwork nearby.
Rochelle, forever the conversationalist, asked, “How’s Sarah doing?”
“Hmm? Oh, um, she’s okay.”
“Noreen told me what’s going on.”
Oh, fuck. How had I forgotten that Rochelle was friends with my neighbor/ babysitter? At first, I’d thought maybe she knew about Sarah because of what I’d had to divulge at work, but this was worse. Still, I managed to keep my voice steady and calm. “What did she tell you exactly?”
“Just that she’s going to a shrink.”
Instead of looking up at Rochelle, I kept my eyes glued on the report I was working on, trying to sound casual. “She’s just having a few problems. The school counselor thought therapy would help her deal with them.”
“Anything I can do?”
The sarcastic part of me wanted to ask if she had a degree in psychology—but then I realized she could actually help in her own way. “I may need to trade shifts at some point in the future. Thanks.”
And I spent the rest of my afternoon trying to decide if questioning Noreen would even be worth it—or if maybe I should keep my mouth clamped shut around the woman from this point forward.
At the time, I didn’t know Rochelle wasn’t done with me yet.
As I was wrapping up everything later in the day, getting ready to leave now that Kathy was on the clock, Rochelle said, “So, you’ve got a cute man in your life, too, huh?”
“What?”
“Noreen said there’s a guy you’ve been dating…and that you didn’t come home until after noon Sunday.”
Jesus Christ. Noreen was even worse than I’d thought. “Did she mention that Justin and I are just friends?”
“She said he’s over at your place a lot.”
“We’re friends.”
Finally, she sensed my anger. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool.” But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Fine if they wanted to gossip about my sex life, but my kid was another matter—and I didn’t know how to handle my neighbor now. Needless to say, I was furious when I picked the kids up at school and, when I had to drop Devon off at Noreen’s house before taking Sarah to therapy, I managed to be civil, but it was difficult.
Fortunately, Sarah’s therapy session was calm, but I wondered how any of this would help—reminding myself that Dr. Hopkins had said she would be spending the first few visits gaining Sarah’s trust before digging for information. Fortunately, I was able to schedule regular appointments for my daughter. Although they would be earlier in the day—during school hours—I took them, because I needed to be able to rely on a schedule.
It was the only way I could survive my shitstorm of a life.
Following that damned schedule, Sarah and I rushed home so I could get to class. This time I avoided a lecture from my prof and did okay on the exam, even though my brain was scattered. Later, as I was heading back to the van after classes, I heard Justin’s voice behind me. “Hey, Rascal.”
I turned my head but kept walking—and he sped up to catch up with me. “Hey.”
“What’s going on?”
“We had another one of Sarah’s appointments today. I don’t know what to think right now.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Well, other than getting us banned from church for life, she seems to be okay.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“My parents took her to church Sunday and she exploded, saying something about there not being a God and even dropping an F-bomb.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.” My voice sounded like the wind had been knocked out of my lungs. “I just wish I knew what was making her like this.”
“If this shrink’s as good as you think