had three. They weren't so weird after all. "Other than that, how was your day?"
The despondent way she slumped in her chair; her frown, while she played with some cookie crumbs on the table, foretold the tenor of her report.
She looked at him, resigned. "It sucked, just like it did yesterday and the day before, and the day before that. These kids don't like me. I don't fit in, no matter how I try."
"I'm sorry, kiddo. You'll make new friends. I know it will get better."
He cringed, mentally, at the false note in his voice. He knew how she felt. He'd been rejected in his youth because he was smarter than everybody else, so he knew it didn't get better.
"No, it won't. I'm the local newbie."
He raised an eyebrow and waited for the translation.
"The newcomer. Even though it's just the first year of high school, the kids in my classes already know each other. They grew up together in the only grade school in town. I'm an outsider."
Her voice resonated anger and bitterness. "It sure didn't help coming here after school started, either. All the groups were set and everybody knew who they were going to hang with. I hate it and it's all my fault."
Her fault? It pained him to hear the tears in her voice. "How do you figure that? I'm the one who decided we should move here."
She rolled her eyes. "If I hadn't given you the 4-1-1 about the kids at my old school using weed and how their parents didn't care, we'd still be in Chicago, instead of this dumb old town. I didn't know you'd flame like that." Her voice turned plaintive. "Geez. Where do we go next? Patagonia? Because, for sure, there’s drugs there too."
Only the sound of cookie crunching broke the silence, until David, thinking maybe it was time for honesty, said, "Sarah, I'm sorry this isn't working for you. I know you didn't approve when I married your mom, and the few months before she became ill weren't enough for you and I to get to know each other. I'm new at this father business, and I'm going to make mistakes."
She looked at him. Fear mingled with tears in her eyes. He felt like the lowest kind of worm, but he sensed her distress wasn't all due to being the new kid in school.
"Something else is going on here. What? Just tell me. I won't say anything. I'll just listen."
Her voice was low and halting as she began. "One of the reasons I hate this place is it's just us here, alone. I mean, neither of us have other family." She stared at her plate, arranging crumbs in a neat pile.
"So how does that matter?" He waited, watching her tension build until it all came out in a rush.
"Well, you're a really good-looking guy and you make a lot of money, and women chase you, even though you don't seem to notice."
That was the last thing he expected to hear. "Yeah, so? We don't have a money problem. How is that bad?"
Her look of despair at his inability to understand frustrated him, but he kept silent, knowing there was more.
"Like I said, you're a great looking guy, real hot. It'll be the same here. You'll find someone and get married again."
He winced. Apparently, this wasn't 'home' yet, and the picture she painted of him and the future embarrassed him. He'd never needed women. In fact, his lack of interest in women and sex had given him plenty of moments of self-doubt when he was younger. Part of that he blamed on not having friends his own age to talk to; accelerated classes made him ten years younger than everybody else; tutors didn't count. And as he matured, he was more interested in stocks and bonds.
Sarah paused, mashing the cookie crumbs furiously with her thumb, until finally, she exploded with, "When you get married again, I won't have no to go."
Whoa! Hold on here! What maggot was curling in her brain? "What do you mean, you have no place to go?" She thought he'd get rid of her? When had he ever given her reason to think that? It was damned insulting, but this was not the time to lose his temper. This might be the key to her hostility. He prayed it would
The despondent way she slumped in her chair; her frown, while she played with some cookie crumbs on the table, foretold the tenor of her report.
She looked at him, resigned. "It sucked, just like it did yesterday and the day before, and the day before that. These kids don't like me. I don't fit in, no matter how I try."
"I'm sorry, kiddo. You'll make new friends. I know it will get better."
He cringed, mentally, at the false note in his voice. He knew how she felt. He'd been rejected in his youth because he was smarter than everybody else, so he knew it didn't get better.
"No, it won't. I'm the local newbie."
He raised an eyebrow and waited for the translation.
"The newcomer. Even though it's just the first year of high school, the kids in my classes already know each other. They grew up together in the only grade school in town. I'm an outsider."
Her voice resonated anger and bitterness. "It sure didn't help coming here after school started, either. All the groups were set and everybody knew who they were going to hang with. I hate it and it's all my fault."
Her fault? It pained him to hear the tears in her voice. "How do you figure that? I'm the one who decided we should move here."
She rolled her eyes. "If I hadn't given you the 4-1-1 about the kids at my old school using weed and how their parents didn't care, we'd still be in Chicago, instead of this dumb old town. I didn't know you'd flame like that." Her voice turned plaintive. "Geez. Where do we go next? Patagonia? Because, for sure, there’s drugs there too."
Only the sound of cookie crunching broke the silence, until David, thinking maybe it was time for honesty, said, "Sarah, I'm sorry this isn't working for you. I know you didn't approve when I married your mom, and the few months before she became ill weren't enough for you and I to get to know each other. I'm new at this father business, and I'm going to make mistakes."
She looked at him. Fear mingled with tears in her eyes. He felt like the lowest kind of worm, but he sensed her distress wasn't all due to being the new kid in school.
"Something else is going on here. What? Just tell me. I won't say anything. I'll just listen."
Her voice was low and halting as she began. "One of the reasons I hate this place is it's just us here, alone. I mean, neither of us have other family." She stared at her plate, arranging crumbs in a neat pile.
"So how does that matter?" He waited, watching her tension build until it all came out in a rush.
"Well, you're a really good-looking guy and you make a lot of money, and women chase you, even though you don't seem to notice."
That was the last thing he expected to hear. "Yeah, so? We don't have a money problem. How is that bad?"
Her look of despair at his inability to understand frustrated him, but he kept silent, knowing there was more.
"Like I said, you're a great looking guy, real hot. It'll be the same here. You'll find someone and get married again."
He winced. Apparently, this wasn't 'home' yet, and the picture she painted of him and the future embarrassed him. He'd never needed women. In fact, his lack of interest in women and sex had given him plenty of moments of self-doubt when he was younger. Part of that he blamed on not having friends his own age to talk to; accelerated classes made him ten years younger than everybody else; tutors didn't count. And as he matured, he was more interested in stocks and bonds.
Sarah paused, mashing the cookie crumbs furiously with her thumb, until finally, she exploded with, "When you get married again, I won't have no to go."
Whoa! Hold on here! What maggot was curling in her brain? "What do you mean, you have no place to go?" She thought he'd get rid of her? When had he ever given her reason to think that? It was damned insulting, but this was not the time to lose his temper. This might be the key to her hostility. He prayed it would