It explains why they would have such a nice piece of land. They inherited it.
“What do you do, Ms. Peterson?”
“Oh, I’ve done a lot of things. I work from home mostly,” she says, taking another sip of her drink. “You know those people who call you asking about health insurance? Well, I’m one of them now.”
“It must be nice being able to stay at home. You’ve got a beautiful property.”
“A roof is a roof, even if it’s the same roof you’ve lived under most of your life, I guess. I’d like to fix the place up. Maybe I will after Zoey leaves,” she says, raising a single finger into the air. “One more year.”
I understand the relief most parents feel when their life is finally their own again, but I’ve also heard of empty nesters. I find it odd that Ms. Peterson, who seems very much alone, is anticipating the departure of her only child.
“Does Zoey talk about college?”
“Since we’ve moved here, she thinks she might have a chance at an athletic scholarship. Between that and her grades, she should get most of it paid for. As long as she doesn’t set her sights too high.”
I’m trying to figure Ms. Peterson out. Disengaged would be an appropriate word. She’s friendly enough, but I question what type of mother would rather sit at home alone than watch her daughter excel in a sport.
“Well, I’m sure Zoey will find a way to do whatever she wants,” I say, wondering, still, what I hoped to figure out by coming here. My mother never believed Brian was dangerous. I’m not sure why I’d thought Ms. Peterson would be any different.
Ms. Peterson looks at me for the first time since she sat down. “Is she in some sort of trouble?”
“No. Not really,” I say, stumbling over my words. I have to give her some reason for why I’m here besides sipping tea on her front porch. “I do worry about her socialization. It’s hard for students when they enroll in a new school late in the year.”
“Well, it’s not like we had much choice,” she says, taking another gulp. “Not sure how she makes it sound, but all the leaving isn’t because of me.”
“I’m not trying to pry—”
“Yes, you are,” she says. Her eyes aren’t accusatory, but honest. “You’re trying to figure out Zoey. And I’m trying to figure out why. Has she done something?”
I consider telling her about the essay and Darcy, but that would be a complete breach of ethics, and I’m already straddling the line. Instead, I try to fish for more information. “Does Zoey seem bothered by something?”
“She said some of her teammates gave her a hard time at first. Things are better now. They can’t hate on her too much if she’s helping them win. She told me your school’s track team is lousy, no offense.”
“Well, that’s true,” I say, forcing a laugh, but Ms. Peterson seems as dry as ever.
“Track has helped her make friends faster than she has before.” She stares at the landscape past the porch. “She made a big deal about going to the dance and that party. It’s not like I really wanted her to go, but what can you do?”
My throat feels dry and I take another sip, wide-eyed. Zoey did go to the party.
“Has Zoey had problems making friends at other schools?” I ask.
“Zoey eventually has problems everywhere she goes.”
“I see.”
“I’ll ask you again,” she says, hardening her stare. “Has she done something I should know about? I’ve had teachers from other schools visit, and it’s never to tell me how smart and popular she is. Zoey knows we need to stay here this time around, now that we have the house and all. There’s got to be a reason you’d spend your Friday afternoon sitting on the porch with me.”
I want to tell her, but I don’t know how. I’ll sound like a lunatic if I tell her Zoey might have attacked Darcy. I can’t prove it. I could barely tell my own mom about Brian, even when I had evidence to back up my suspicions.
“I think we bump heads sometimes,” I say. “I don’t think she interacts with the other teachers that way. It makes me wonder if it’s just me.”
“It might be just you this time, honey,” she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She lights one, releasing a gray plume into the air. “But you aren’t the only one she’s rubbed wrong.”
“Has Zoey been in trouble before?”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you something if you aren’t telling me,” she says, hitting the cigarette hard.
“I can’t say she’s done something specific,” I say, hesitantly. Our conversation is becoming more contentious, and the last thing I want is to upset this woman.
“It’s just a feeling, isn’t it?” she asks, looking at me again with those honest eyes. I realize she knows exactly what I cannot say. There’s something wrong with Zoey, but neither one of us can define it. “When it comes to Zoey, she runs hot and cold. People either love her or they hate her. And she either hates you back, or she doesn’t. I’ll tell you this, if you’re skating on her bad side now, it’d be best to back off. Once you’re on her list, there’s no getting off.”
I look back at her, mouth open. I’ve never heard someone describe their own child so harshly. They say mothers know their children best, but after Mom and Brian, I didn’t believe that was true. Staring at Ms. Peterson, I see the opposite. She’s a mother who sees there’s a darkness residing in her daughter, but like me, she knows there is nothing to be done about it.
“If I were you,” she continues, taking another hit of the cigarette, “I’d keep my distance. It’s what I try to do.”
“Is that why you don’t go to her track meets?” I ask, the question leaving my mouth so suddenly
