The Girl of Sand & Fog Read Free Page B

you’re going to be a bitch about the whole thing,” Bobby says.
    “I’m not a bitch.”
    “Of course you are. Deliberately,” Zoe says in
approval. “It’s what I like about you. You scare the crap out of everyone.”
    Well, there is no bullshit in this crew, I
reluctantly note as I climb into the driver’s seat. That’s something. As
irritating as it is, it is refreshing after wading through knee-deep false
flattery, backhand innuendo and just plain phony acts of friendship.
    I make a careful sideways glance at Bobby as I
turn the key in the ignition. I feel it again: that little flutter of interest
inside me. I bite my lower lip. “I need to make a stop at my house before we go
where you guys want to go.”
    Zoe frowns and shakes her head. “Can’t you just
text your mom?”
    “No, I can’t. I have to check on her and going
home is a rule.”
    Bobby is studying me again, strangely. “Check on
her? What does that mean?”
    Oh shit, this guy doesn’t miss a thing.
    I give him a back-off glare. “Never mind.
I’ve just got to go home first, OK?”
    I pull out of the school parking lot and begin to
drive home. I should probably text Chrissie first to make sure it is OK to
bring friends home, but fuck it, I’ve been punished enough with forced
relocation and isolation because Chrissie’s life is a mess. Chrissie’s life is
always a mess. The only predictability I’ve ever known was during the Jesse
years. Jesse. I feel myself wanting to tear up and force myself not to.
    “Hey, you OK?” I hear Bobby say.
    Not trusting my voice, I nod. I’m grateful to
hear Zoe chirping from the backseat, preventing Bobby from probing any further.
    “You know, the adults here are the worst gossips.
My mom and dad talk incessantly about everyone. That’s how I knew Alan Manzone
was your dad. My mom saw your mom last week at the grocery store. That started
a shitstorm of speculation, since I guess they used to be friends, and your mom
just brushed by her like she wasn’t there and hasn’t called since she moved
here.”
    “My mom hasn’t called anyone,” I say, hoping my
voice sounds casual.
    “That’s true,” Bobby confirms. “My mom hasn’t
heard a peep out of her. Not since the funeral. She calls. Chrissie never calls
back. Linda has been sitting around our house all butt-hurt for months now.”
    “Can we drop it and talk about something else?” I
snap in frustration. “You don’t know how irritating it is to live trapped in
Chrissie emotional botheration and to have every conversation circle back to
Chrissie.”
    I pull into my driveway and open my door. “I’ll
just be a second.”
    Without being invited, they follow me again. Oh
shit, that’ll piss Mom off, and knowing that somehow makes it something I just
do. I open the front door and gesture them in.
    The loudness of the house always hits me like a
brick when I step through the front door. The twins are running wild in a way
that tells me that Chrissie is still in bed. Two months. Crap, shouldn’t she be
out of bed at least the majority of the day by now? How long does it take to
recover from a C-section?
    “Kaley, is that you? Can you do something about
those boys?” I hear my mom call out from the opposite direction of the master
bedroom.
    I roll my eyes and throw my bag onto the front
tile. “They’re your kids. You take care of them. Or hire more help. You’re
perfectly capable of doing both. Where’s Lourdes?”
    “Please, Kaley. She’s at ballet with Krystal and
my hands are a little full right now,” Chrissie replies, unruffled and
irritatingly tolerant.
    “Whose fault is that?”
    “Is it always so chaotic here?” Zoe whispers.
    I shrug. “Just since the move. You don’t have to
whisper. My mom can’t hear a thing from the back of the house.”
    Eric and Ethan run down the hallway like the
terrors they are, and I motion for my sort-of friends to follow me as I ignore
my six-year-old twin brothers since it’s pointless to