Home Again

Noises were everywhere in this shadowy place—the clang of iron-barred doors being opened and closed, the disgruntled voices and shrill-pitched shouts of teenaged gang members, the heavy thud of footsteps on the stone floor. Every sound made her curl tighter and tighter on the dirty bed.

This place is gonna seem like a picnic, little lady, if they send you to the main ward.

The social worker’s words came back to Lina, frightening her all over again. She couldn’t help thinking of her bed at home—big and fresh-smelling and covered in Laura Ashley sheets.

“I love ham-and-cheese omelets,” she whispered, feeling the tears well again, clogging her throat and stinging her eyes.

What had made her act like such a bitch around her mother? Lina knew how hard her mother tried to please her—she’d noticed the baggy sweats, the lack of makeup, the too bright smile that tried to mask a sharp desperation in her mom’s eyes.

Yeah, she knew her mom loved her, knew she only wanted to do the very best for Lina. So why couldn’t Lina cut her some slack? Why did she wake up angry and stay angry all day? Sometimes she knew why she was mad, but more often than not, she couldn’t place a cause. She just wasn’t happy. Some mornings she felt fat, the next day she’d think she was skinny. Half the time, she felt like crying few no reason at all.

She wanted everything to be like it used to be. She didn’t want to feel so ugly and lost all the time. She wanted to fit in somewhere.

She knew she was a disappointment to her perfect mother—Madelaine, the child prodigy who’d earned her high school diploma before she turned fifteen. Saint Madelaine, who never had a hair out of place, who raised a daughter alone while she attended medical school, who never lost her temper or cried or asked for help from anyone.

“I’ll never shoplift again, God,” she whispered brokenly, squeezing her eyes shut against a fresh wave of tears.

Suddenly the door of her dormitory room rattled. Keys jangled in the lock, clicked hard, and the door screeched open.

“Hillyard, get up.”

Lina rolled to face the door and lurched to her feet, her heart pounding with sudden anxiety. “Where am I going?”

The fat, polyester-clad woman gave her a deadpan look. “Do I look like a tour director?” She cocked her head down the corridor. “Get going.”

Lina hugged herself tightly and eased past the woman. Moving slowly, she walked down the hallway, keeping her eyes down.

Finally they came to another locked door. The woman pushed the intercom and said, “Hillyard!” in a loud, booming voice.

The door swung open.

Lina hesitated for a second. The woman shoved her, and Lina stumbled forward. The first face she saw was John Spencer’s. The second was her mother’s.

She stared at her mom, saw the sadness in her mother’s eyes, the disappointment that pursed her lips, and felt a wrenching guilt. She wanted to take a step forward, throw herself in her mom’s arms and be swept up, comforted and held, but she couldn’t seem to move.

“Lina,” Mr. Spencer said, “your mother is prepared to take you home—after you make your apologies to the manager of Savemore Drugs.” He dropped her backpack on the table beside him with a thunk.

Lina swallowed hard. “Okay.” The word came out on a squeak.

>

Spencer closed the distance between them. His shadow fell across Lina’s face. “You’ve spent an hour in detention, little girl. Believe me, you don’t want to spend any more.”

She was so scared, she could barely nod.

“I’m gonna keep in touch with your mom, and if you cause any more trouble …” He let the threat dangle between them. “You understand me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, what?” he boomed.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good.” He turned to Madelaine. “I’ll allow you to take the minor child home now, Dr. Hillyard. But I’ll be calling once a week. I assume this is the last such incident I’ll hear about.”

Madelaine nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Spencer.”

Then Spencer left the room, and Lina was alone with her mom. They stood there a minute, staring at each other.