The Good Daughter (17 page)

“No wonder I got the house so cheap,” Howard said scornfully. “No one wants to live next to you.”

Jude’s lips curved but the smile didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ve lived here almost ten years, and no one in the neighborhood has a problem with me. You’re the one they’re talking about, pal.”

“Me?”

“Sometimes things get a little crazy over at your place. Folks on the street can hear everything. Might want to shut your windows when things start getting loud.”

“Mind your own business.”

“Happy to. Just as long as your business doesn’t become my business.”

F
riday morning Kit watched Delilah, her new student in freshman English, shoulder her black-and-purple backpack with the skull on the little pocket and prepare to leave her classroom. “Delilah,” she said, stopping the girl before she reached the door. “How’s it going?”

The girl shrugged, looked away, long blond bangs falling in her eyes.

“You survived your first week here,” Kit continued, determined to engage her, wanting to know why Delilah, or Dee as Michael had called her, made absolutely no effort to participate in class this week. “What do you think so far?”

Another shrug, a flick of her hair. “It’s fine.”

“Things becoming more familiar?”

“Yeah. I guess.” And still without making eye contact, she tugged her backpack higher on her shoulder and stared pointedly at the door.

Kit knew she wanted to go, but wasn’t ready to let her escape quite yet. “Have you ever read Shakespeare before?”

“Yes. Last year.”

“So you’re not having any problem with the reading assignments?”

“No.”

“You failed the pop quiz, though, yesterday.”

Delilah just looked at her, said nothing.

“We’re going to have another pop quiz on
Twelfth Night
early next week. Do try to get caught up with the reading, all right?”

The girl tugged on her backpack strap. “I have to go. If I’m late to gym, I’ll have to run extra laps.”

“But if you are struggling with the reading, please come see me, okay?”

Delilah nodded, put her head down, and disappeared out the door.

Kit watched her go, and all she could think of was a small, bruised peach.

During lunch in the staff room, Kit ate her chicken sandwich while skimming the last chapter of Edith Wharton’s
The Age of Innocence,
which she’d be discussing with her junior lit class right after lunch. Kit had taught the novel for the past seven years, but its last chapter still made her restless and unhappy. Newland Archer had made the wrong choice. He should have seized that second chance.

Kit was still engrossed in the fading light of Paris and Newland’s decision to let Ellen remain part of his memory—abstractly, serenely—something that did not make her feel serene at all, when Polly appeared in the staff room, a bottle of water and an organic protein bar in her hand. She took a seat next to Kit.

“Fish Friday,” Polly muttered under her breath. “That’s just plain evil.”

“Don’t let Bob hear you,” Kit whispered, closing the book. “He was raving about the delicious moist fish fillet earlier.”

“
Fillet?
It was minced! Fish guts!”

Kit stuffed her sandwich into her mouth to keep from laughing aloud. “You’re killing me,” she said when she could finally talk without food in her mouth. “I hate that you’re so funny.”

“I know. I feel bad for you. I wish you could be funny, too.”

Kit laughed softly again, aware that Bob Osborne was staring at them, probably trying to decide how he could work his way into their conversation, when Shelley Jones stuck her head into the staff room. “Kit, have a second?”

Kit pushed away from the table, met Shelley just outside the door. Down the hall in the workroom, copiers hummed and student voices wafted from the front office asking for a late arrival slip, wanting to call home, wondering if there was a Band-Aid.

“What’s up?” Kit asked.

Shelley folded her arms across her chest. “Delilah Hartnel was late to class fourth period and she said she was with you. Just wanted to verify her story.”

“I was talking to her, yes.”

“Send a note with her next time when she’s that late.”

“How late was she?”

“At least fifteen minutes. Closer to twenty.”

“But I only kept her a minute or two.”

Shelley shrugged. “Just telling you the excuse she gave me.”

Kit nodded and returned to the table in the staff room as the bell rang. Polly’s eyebrows arched. “What did Shelley want?”

“That new freshman, Delilah, is going to be a challenge.” Kit grabbed her lunch bag, tossed it, and put what was left of her Coke in the fridge.

“What did she do?”

“Told Shelley I’d kept her, which is why she was fifteen minutes tardy to PE.”

“Did you keep her after class?”

“Just for a minute or two. If that.

“I don’t know,” Kit continued as they left the staff room and walked through the office and out into the hall. “There’s definitely something going on with her.”

The first bell hadn’t rung yet, so the hallway was still empty. Their footsteps echoed on the tiled floor.

“I don’t think this is the right school for her,” Polly said, keys jingling in her hand. “She’s not even trying in math. Hasn’t turned in a single homework assignment yet.”

“She hasn’t done much in my class either,” Kit admitted. “But I can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t understand the assignments or if she’s overwhelmed—”

“Or if she just doesn’t care.” Polly’s lips pursed. “I’m thinking she doesn’t care.”

“I wouldn’t go there yet,” Kit said. Delilah was obviously struggling. But with what? “She’s still brand-new.”

“I won’t coddle her. This isn’t a public school. You have to do your work. You have to keep your grades up. And you have to follow the rules.”

S
aturday morning, while doing laundry, Kit found herself thinking about Delilah, which made her think of Michael, who was the last person she wanted to think about. She didn’t like Michael. Didn’t trust him at all.

And Delilah…what was the deal with her? She was puzzling, too.

Michael had said he didn’t get along with Delilah, and looking at the girl, Kit could see why. Michael was clean-cut, Mr. Corporate, and Delilah was surly, and moody and emo, but then, she
was a teenager. Teenage girls were chock-full of hormones, and fifteen was notoriously difficult…

So was Delilah to blame for the problems between her and her stepdad? Or was Michael being the problem? Hard to say at this point, but Kit was interested in finding out.

By noon, though, her attention was diverted away from Michael and Delilah to Meg’s and Sarah’s texts about the cruise. Kit hadn’t even thought about packing for the trip yet, but Meg and Sarah were demanding to know what she planned to wear for the formal night, and if she’d take a costume for the theme night, and whether it made sense to invest in a new swimsuit and cover-up for the pool.

Before long Meg and Sarah added Cass to the group messages, and then Mom. Soon Kit’s phone and e-mail in-box were swamped with messages about shore excursions and weather forecasts and Dramamine for seasickness. Cass was worried about continuing reports of violence in Mexico and Sarah was nervous about Boone taking the kids ATV riding in Cabo. Mom wondered if any of them had heard from Brianna yet and when she’d be arriving in California. This prompted another flurry of e-mails that now included Brianna, asking her for her flight number and the date and time of her arrival.

Because of the time difference between California and Africa, they didn’t hear from Brianna until Sunday. Kit saw the e-mail in her in-box just as she was walking out the door for the 8:30
A.M.
Mass at St. Margaret Mary. She paused to read the message and ended up never making it to church.

Apparently her fraternal twin had been sick ever since Christmas. That’s why she hadn’t come home after all. But Brianna being Brianna hadn’t wanted to worry her family, so she was only now sharing her “adventure.”

Kit had to read the e-mail three times to understand the facts, as Brianna had cleverly glossed over the pertinent ones in her brief, cheery mass e-mail, explaining that she wouldn’t be able to join
them on the cruise since she was still recovering from a crazy night in Namibia in the company of a button spider.

I have a lot in common with Little Miss Muffet,
Brianna added,
but sadly my little spider, when he sat down beside me, didn’t scare me away. He just climbed in my pants, and bit me on the ass, and I’ve been on IV antibiotics ever since.

Brianna ended her e-mail saying she was finally back home from the hospital and “almost well” but tragically not strong enough to travel, and she hoped that they’d have a great cruise without her.

After the third reading, Kit glanced up to the top of the e-mail to see all the addresses Brianna had included and there was Mom’s. Marilyn was an early riser and she would have seen it by now.

Kit reached for her phone and called her but got her voice mail. She left a message. “I got Brianna’s e-mail. Can’t believe she’s been so sick. Think I should go to the Congo instead of on the cruise so I can kick her butt.”

Apparently everyone else in the family was having the same thought. Dad, Meg, and Tommy all offered to get on a plane and head to Africa to make sure Brianna was okay. Kit looked up flight options but it was Tommy who actually reserved a ticket.

Brianna’s humor deserted her when she learned that in less than twenty-four hours a concerned family delegate, most likely Tommy, would be en route to see her.
ABSOLUTELY NOT,
she e-mailed them all in another mass message.
DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT,
she continued shouting (yes, just like that, in caps) that she would disown all of them, her entire Brennan-Roberts-Walker family, if even one of them barged in on her when she was trying to rest in the privacy of her own home.

Brianna’s group e-mail devastated Mom, and so Meg shot Brianna a curt (private) e-mail telling her that this wasn’t the time to be selfish when Mom had so little time left. Brianna responded (in
a group e-mail) that she was perfectly aware that Mom’s time was limited, and thanked Meg for reminding her, saying she didn’t know what she’d do without her to depress her and make her feel like shit.

Kit was still reading—and cringing from—Brianna’s brutal response when her phone rang. She knew without looking it was Meg calling. “I was just reading the e-mail,” she said to Meg as she answered.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s been really sick.”

“But why send that e-mail to everyone? Why not just send it to me?”

“Because Bree was making a point. She doesn’t want us there, doesn’t want us fussing. And this is her way of making us back off.” Kit sighed, thinking of Bree in her little apartment in Kinshasa, Congo’s capital. “And you know, it’ll work. Everyone will back off. They’ll leave her alone. And she’ll become invisible all over again.”

“It’s like she doesn’t want to be part of the family.”

Brianna had gone to Africa as a medical volunteer when she was twenty-six. She’d just earned a graduate degree in infectious diseases and had joined the six-week program to get some practical field experience before taking a job with a hospital in Miami. But she never returned. She cashed in her airline ticket, applied for a permanent job in Congo, and stayed. “I just think she’s been gone so long now that she forgets what it’s like to be part of our family.”

“She makes it hard to love her.”

“Yeah,” Kit said quietly, thinking of her twin. “That might be intentional.”

Hanging up, she made herself a cup of tea and returned to the living room, with the stack of notebooks piled high on the coffee table. It’d been two weeks since she last read student journals, which meant she had dozens to review today.

The student journals were quite personal. Some students wrote very little. Some wrote a lot, filling page after page with teenage anger and angst, hopes, dreams, and irritations. The sophomores were the most arrogant. (They’d survived their freshman year and thought they’d made it.) Juniors were focused on getting into college. Seniors could taste college. And her freshmen…her freshmen felt everything so intensely.

Kit identified with her freshman and sophomore students. Their adolescent emotions burned razor sharp, fueled by hormones and intense wants and needs. Love. Hate. Fear. Desire. They all wanted to be somebody. They all craved something. Attention. Sex. Validation.

Kit understood. There were still so many things she wanted, things that were becoming impossible dreams.

Summoning fresh energy, she settled down to read, scribbling notes in the margins here and there, adding a smiley face or an exclamation where appropriate. She was moving swiftly through the freshmen journals when she came to Delilah Hartnel’s brand-new notebook. It was black, and plain (why was she not surprised that Delilah had chosen black for her notebook color?) and contained just the introductory paragraph Kit had asked her for three days ago.

Kit stopped reading and pursed her lips, stifling a sputter of shocked laughter. She could see why Michael would describe Delilah as mouthy. She had fire. Attitude. And from what Kit knew of Michael, he wouldn’t like that.

Kit studied Delilah’s handwriting a moment, noting how the girl wrote in a jet-black felt tip with dark smudges and exclamations with words underlined. Teenage girls thrived on drama, but Kit sensed that in Delilah’s world, the drama was real. She and Michael didn’t get along, and Kit imagined that her mother, Missy, was caught in the middle. Not a comfortable situation for any of them.