“A job?”
I nodded. “At this jewelry place.”
“Ruby, I don’t know.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the rail behind her. “I think you should just be focusing on school for the time being.”
“It’s only fifteen hours a week, if that,” I told her. “And I’m used to working.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said. “But Perkins Day is more rigorous, academically, than you’re used to. I saw your transcripts. If you want to go to college, you really need to make your grades and your applications the number one priority.”
College? I thought. “I can do both,” I said.
“You don’t have to, though. That’s just the point.” She shook her head. “When I was in high school, I was working thirty-hour weeks—I had no choice. You do.”
“This isn’t thirty hours,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes at me, making it clear I just wasn’t getting what she was saying. “Ruby, we want to do this for you, okay? You don’t have to make things harder than they have to be just to prove a point.”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell her that I’d never asked her to worry about my future, or make it her problem. That I was practically eighteen, as well as being completely capable of making my own decisions about what I could and could not handle. And that being in my life for less than a week didn’t make her my mother or guardian, regardless of what it said on any piece of paper.
But just as I drew in a breath to say all this, I looked again at her red eyes and stopped myself. It had been a long day for both of us, and going further into this would only make it longer.
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll talk about it. Later, though. All right? ”
Cora looked surprised. She clearly had not been expecting me to agree, even with provisions. “Fine,” she said. She swallowed, then glanced back down at the party. “So, there’s food downstairs, if you haven’t eaten. Sorry I didn’t mention the party before—everything’s been kind of crazy.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
She looked at me for another moment. “Right,” she said slowly, finally. “Well, I should get back downstairs. Just . . . come down whenever.”
I nodded, and then she stepped past me and started down the stairs. Halfway down, she looked back up at me, and I knew she was still wondering what exactly had precipitated this sudden acquiescence. I couldn’t tell her, of course, what I’d overheard. It wasn’t my business, then or now. But as I started to my room, I kept thinking about what Denise had said, and the resemblance she claimed to be able to see. Maybe my sister and I shared more than we thought. We were both waiting and wishing for something we couldn’t completely control: I wanted to be alone, and she the total opposite. It was weird, really, to have something so contrary in common. But at least it was something.
“. . . all I can say is, acupuncture works. What? No, it doesn’t hurt. At all.”
“. . . so that was it. I decided that night, no more blind dates. I don’t care if he is a doctor.”
“. . . only thirty thousand miles and the original warranty. I mean, it’s such a steal!”
I’d been walking through the party for a little more than twenty minutes, nodding at people who nodded at me and picking at my second plate of barbecue, coleslaw, and potato salad. Even though Jamie and Cora’s friends seemed nice enough, I was more than happy not to have to talk to anyone, until I heard one voice that cut through all the others.
“Roscoe!”
Jamie was standing at the back of the yard, past the far end of the pond, peering into the dark. As I walked over to him, I got my first up-close look at the pond, which I was surprised to see was already filled with water, a hose dangling in from one side. In the dark it seemed even bigger, and I couldn’t tell how deep it was: it looked like it went down forever.
“What’s going on?” I asked when I reached him.
“Roscoe’s vanished,” he said. “He tends to do this. He’s not fond of crowds. It’s not at the level of the smoke detector, but it’s still a problem.”
I looked into the dark, then slowly turned back to the pond. “He can swim, right?”
Jamie’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he said. “I didn’t even think about that.”
“I’m sure he’s not in there,” I told him, feeling bad for even suggesting it as he walked to the pond’s edge, peering down into it, a worried look on his face. “In fact—”
Then we both heard it: a distinct yap, high-pitched and definitely not obscured by water. It was coming from the fence. “Thank God,” Jamie said, turning back in that direction. “Roscoe! Here, boy!”
There was another series of barks, but no Roscoe. “Looks like he might have to be brought in by force,” Jamie said with a sigh. “Let me just—”
“I’ll get him,” I said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Go back to the party.”
He smiled at me. “All right. Thanks.”
I nodded, then put my plate down by a nearby tree as he walked away. Behind me, the party was still going strong, but the voices and music diminished as I walked to the end of the yard, toward the little clump of trees that ran alongside the fence. Not even a week earlier, I’d been running across this same expanse, my thoughts only of getting away. Now, here I was, working to bring back the one thing that had stopped me. Stupid dog.