And suddenly, after four months of humiliation, taunts and abuse, Ryan had had enough. Swinging around to face Larry Bronski, his eyes blazing with sudden fury, Ryan reached out, grabbed the other boy’s shirt, and yanked him across the table. “Get it back!” Ryan yelled. “Get my lunch back, or I’m gonna smash your face in!”
“Leggo of me!” Larry cried out. “Jeez, what’s—”
But the rest of his words were lost in the melee as three guys from the next table grabbed Ryan, yanked him off Bronski, and threw him to the floor. Suddenly kids were screaming all around him as he felt a foot lash into his side, and another strike his face. Then, as he tried to protect his face with his arms, he heard something else.
“All right, that’s it!” a man’s voice commanded, and as the crowd of kids around him began to quiet down, a hand reached down, closed on his arm, and pulled him to his feet. “Okay, who wants to tell me what’s going on?” the voice asked.
As Ryan tried to wipe his bleeding nose and streaming eyes with his sleeve, he heard one of the kids say, “Evans started it! He grabbed Bronski’s shirt, and started screamin’ at him for no reason at all! We was just helpin’ Bronski!”
Five minutes later, still nursing his nose, Ryan found himself sitting in the principal’s office.
And the principal was calling his mother.
“It’s for you, Caroline.”
Caroline could tell by the tone of Claire Robinson’s voice that the call wasn’t about business, and she could also tell that Claire was fast losing patience with her. This was the third non-business call that morning; the first had been from someone at Visa asking when they could expect the minimum monthly payment on her maxed-out credit card, the second from her landlord, suggesting that if she couldn’t pay the rent, perhaps she should be looking for a less expensive apartment. And if her voice hadn’t been enough to let Caroline know that the thin ice she was skating on was rapidly melting out from under her, the tight-lipped glare Claire gave her as she shoved the phone toward her certainly made the message loud and clear.
Three minutes later, having heard the news that Ryan had been in a fight and that she needed to go to the school both to collect her son and to discuss his situation, Caroline kept the phone pressed to her ear for almost a full minute after the principal had hung up.
“I’m going to have to be gone for awhile,” she said. “I’m sure it won’t take more than an hour.” She hesitated, but then decided she might as well get it all said at once. “And when I get back, can we talk about the possibility of me getting an advance on my salary?”
Claire Robinson’s expression hardened. “Actually, I wanted to discuss your salary with you, too. I think it’s time you went on full commission. It might motivate you to sell more, and of course the commission will be higher, since there won’t be a guarantee.” She hesitated, then spoke again. “But of course if you’re not going to be able to put in all the hours necessary… ” She left the implication of her words hanging, having no need to spell it out for Caroline.
“I’m sorry,” Caroline said. “I’ll make up the hours. I’ll keep the store open later. I’ll—” She cut off her words, hearing the desperation in her own voice. She took a deep breath, regained control of her emotions, and when she spoke again, her voice was steady. “I’ll be back in an hour.” Grabbing her shoulder bag, she started toward the door, where Kevin Barnes intercepted her, a worried look on his face.
“You okay?”
Caroline hesitated, then nodded. “I’m fine,” she said. “Of course, the bills are past due, my son has a bloody nose and is about to get suspended from school, and Claire wants to cut off my salary, but hey, what could be wrong?”
Kevin’s worried frown deepened. “Look, if there’s anything I can do—”
Caroline shook her head. “There’s not. It’s just life, and I have to deal with it.” She smiled, and gave him a quick hug. “But thanks for offering.”
CHAPTER 7
Irene Delamond moved to the window of her sister’s bedroom and pulled the drapes open, then started to raise the Venetian blinds to let the afternoon light flood in.
“Don’t, Irene,” Lavinia Delamond pleaded from the bed, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t want you to see me this way!”
Despite her sister’s entreaty, Irene pulled the blinds all the way to the top. “There,” she said. “That’s much nicer, isn’t it?”
“No,” Lavinia wailed. “It hurts my eyes!”
“You mean it hurts your vanity,” Irene replied, perching on the edge of the bed and gently pulling Lavinia’s hands away from her face. Lavinia seemed to have deteriorated just since yesterday. The skin on her hands felt dry and papery, and the backs of them were darkening with liver spots. But it was the condition of her sister’s face that concerned Irene the most. In her prime, Lavinia Delamond’s beauty was breathtaking, far outshining that of Virginia Esterbrook. Not, Irene thought, that Virginia was a great beauty even at her best. It was Virginia’s talent and style that had made her a star, not her looks. By the measure of beauty alone, Lavinia should have been the star. But this afternoon there was little evidence of what Lavinia had once been. The bone structure was still there, of course — nothing seemed to be able to ravage that. But the planes of her face were all but invisible under the folds of sallow skin that seemed to sag more with every passing day. Her head was covered with the turban she habitually wore now to cover the deterioration of her hair, but a few wispy strands had escaped during the night and were hanging limply down Lavinia’s left cheek. Irene reached out and gently tucked them back under the turban. “Maybe I should call Dr. Humphries,” she suggested.
Lavinia shrank back into the pillows. “No!” Her voice rose querulously. “I don’t want to see—”
Irene held an admonishing finger to her sister’s crumpled lips. “Now, Lavinia, you’ve always liked Theodore, and it doesn’t matter how you look.”
Lavinia’s lips pursed. “I don’t want him. It’s too late, anyway — I can feel it.”
“Now don’t talk that way.”
“But it’s true,” Lavinia insisted. She raised her left arm and gestured weakly to the room around her, her shriveled fingers trembling. “Just look. I’m as old and worn out as this room.”
Almost against her will, Irene’s eyes scanned her sister’s bedroom, and though she wished it weren’t true, the faded wallpaper and threadbare upholstery, even the worn oriental carpet on the floor, gave credence to Lavinia’s words. The plaster of the ceiling was cracked, and the finish seemed to have worn off the hardwood floor where it wasn’t covered with the rug.
“Well, we aren’t going to just give up,” Irene said. “I’ve brought you a nice hot cup of broth, and later on this afternoon—”
“Broth?” Lavinia echoed, her voice weak, but her eyes seeming to brighten slightly. “What kind?”
Irene picked up a steaming mug from the bedside table and held it to her sister’s lips. “The kind you need,” she assured Lavinia. “But I’m afraid it’s a bit weak.” For a moment she was afraid Lavinia was going to refuse to take the broth at all, but then her sister’s lips opened slightly, and she sucked in a taste of the hot liquid.
“Good,” she said. Her trembling hands took the mug from Irene, and she drank thirstily. Her eyes brightened a bit more, and Irene thought she saw a little color come into Lavinia’s cheeks. “Is there more?” Lavinia asked, her voice quavering.
“A little,” Irene replied.
“Can I have it?”
“Not right now.” Taking the empty mug, Irene stood up. “I want you to rest, and conserve your
