“Why are you here?” she asked.
“No choice in the matter,” I told her.
“Me neither,” she replied. I nodded. This was enough, as far as I was concerned. But then she continued. “I was doing just fine at Jackson. It was my dad that wanted me here and made me apply for a scholarship. Better education, better teachers. Better class of friends, all that. You happy now?”
“Never said I wasn’t,” I told her. “You’re the one moaning and groaning over there.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows. Clearly, I’d surprised her, and I had a feeling this wasn’t so easy to do. “What’s your name again?”
“Ruby,” I told her. “Ruby Cooper.”
“Huh,” she said, like this answered some other question, as well. The next time I saw her, though, in the quad between classes, she didn’t just brush by, ignoring me in favor of whoever was talking in her ear. She didn’t speak to me, either. But I did get a moment of eye contact, some acknowledgment, although of what I wasn’t sure, and still couldn’t say.
Now, lying on my bed Saturday morning, I heard a crash from outside, followed by more beeping. I got up and walked to the window, looking down at the yard. The hole was even bigger now, the red clay and exposed rock a marked contrast to the even green grass on either side of it. Jamie was still on the patio with the dog, although now he had his hands in his pockets and was rocking back on his heels as he watched the machine dig down again. It was hard to remember what the yard had looked like even twelve hours before, undisturbed and pristine. Like it takes so little not only to change something, but to make you forget the way it once was, as well.
Downstairs in the kitchen, the noise was even louder, vibrations rattling the glass in the French doors. I could see that Cora, now dressed, her hair damp from the shower, had joined Jamie outside. He was explaining something to her, gesturing expansively as she nodded, looking less than enthusiastic.
I got myself some cereal, figuring if I didn’t, someone would give me another breakfast lecture, then picked up a section of the newspaper from the island. I was on my way to sit down when there was a bang behind me and Roscoe popped through the dog door.
When he saw me, his ears perked up and he pattered over, sniffing around my feet. I stepped over him, walking to the table, but of course he followed me, the way he’d taken to doing ever since the night of the lasagna trauma. Despite my best efforts to dissuade him, the dog liked me.
“You know,” Jamie had said the day before, watching as Roscoe stared up at me with his big bug eyes during dinner, “it’s pretty amazing, actually. He doesn’t bond with just anyone.”
“I’m not really a dog person,” I said.
“Well, he’s not just a dog,” Jamie replied. “He’s Roscoe.”
This, however, was little comfort at times like this, when I just wanted to read my horoscope in peace and instead had to deal with Roscoe attending to his daily toilette—heavy on the slurping—at my feet. “Hey,” I said, nudging him with the toe of my shoe. “Cut it out.”
He looked up at me. One of his big eyes was running, which seemed to be a constant condition. After a moment, he went back to what he was doing.
“You’re up,” I heard Cora say from behind me as she came in the patio door. “Let me guess. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Something like that,” I said.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, then walked over to the table. “Me,” she said with a sigh as she sat down, dropping a hand to pat Roscoe’s head, “I wanted a pool. Something we could swim in.”
I glanced up at her, then out at the backhoe, which was swinging down into the hole. “Ponds are nice, though,” I said. “You’ll have fish.”
She sighed. “So typical. He’s already won you over.”
I shrugged, turning a page. “I don’t take sides.”
I felt her look at me as I said this, her eyes staying on me as I scanned the movie listings. Then she picked up her mug, taking another big sip, before saying, “So. I think we need to talk about a few things.”
Just as she said this, the backhoe rattled to a stop, making everything suddenly seem very quiet. I folded the paper, pushing it aside. “Okay,” I said. “Go ahead.”
Cora looked down at her hands, twining her fingers through the handle of her cup. Then she raised her gaze, making a point of looking me straight in the eye as she said, “I think it’s safe to say that this . . . situation was unexpected for both of us. It’s going to take a bit of adjustment.”
I took another bite of cereal, then looked at Roscoe, who was lying at Cora’s feet now, his head propped up on his paws, legs spread out flat behind him like a frog. “Clearly,” I said.
“The most important things,” she continued, sitting back, “at least to Jamie and me, are to get you settled in here and at school. Routine is the first step to normalcy.”
“I’m not a toddler,” I told her. “I don’t need a schedule.”
“I’m just saying we should deal with one thing at a time,” she said. “Obviously, it won’t all run smoothly. But it’s important to acknowledge that while we may make mistakes, in the long run, we may also learn from them.”
I raised my eyebrows. Maybe I was still in survival mode, but this sounded awfully touchy-feely to me, like a direct quote from some book like Handling Your Troubled Teen. Turned out, I wasn’t so far off.