Page 34 of Cruel Fate

I enjoy the meal Maryanne cooked for us, and Bethany and I have a brief conversation about the originalGossip GirlTV show and how tall we think Blake Lively is. We run out of things to say, and Maryanne asks if the stores in the city have Christmas decorations in their windows yet.

I have a love/hate relationship with the holidays. I spend them alone. Maryanne invites me to celebrate with her, but I always decline. I want the girls who live here to have the bulk of her attention. If Maryanne shared the holidays with all the girls she’s fostered over the years, her small house would be full to bursting.

Every year I tell myself I don’t mind being alone on Thanksgiving and Christmas. They feel like plain old days off work to me, only I’m paid to stay home in bed and read. Now that I’ve been promoted and Zarah and Zane will be taking upmore of my time, my holiday schedule will be busier. I have no idea if that will be a good thing or bad.

We help Maryanne clean the kitchen after dinner, bumping into each other as we do dishes and store leftovers in the fridge. It’s pleasant, and Maryanne playfully elbows me when I accidentally step on her foot. She tells us there’s apple pie for dessert, but she says, “Stella, will you and Jilly rake the backyard first? The leaves are out of control.”

Her eyes full of hurt that she was left out, Bethany opens her mouth to protest, but Maryanne places a finger over her lips. She slumps in dejection and shuffles into the living room.

I hear the TV turn on.

Jilly looks like she wants to be anywhere than where she is. I smile at her, but she averts her gaze.

Talking to her is going to be tough—I hate bringing up my past. It’s like a wound that scabs over, and then every time I explain what happened to me, it starts to bleed all over again.

We find rakes in the garage, in the same place Maryanne stored them when I lived here, and a few seconds later, we’re raking dead leaves into piles. The stars start to twinkle.

It’s difficult finding a place to start. These kinds of conversations are always hard, and having been in Jilly’s position, I know they’re unwelcome, too. “Maryanne said your dad had a stroke. I’m sorry.”

“She brings me to visit him a lot,” Jilly says, dragging her rake across the grass.

“That’s nice.”

“It hurts. I can see in his eyes he wants to say something, but it’s like he’s trapped in his body.”

“It must give him peace to know that Maryanne is taking good care of you.”

Jilly might have ended up in a home where they only foster kids for the money and to turn them into servants or maids.Before my time in the system ended at Maryanne’s, I worked on a farm. I loved the animals, but those were long days. My social worker saw the potential in me and moved me out. I’ll always be grateful that someone saw me as a person and not another mouth to feed.

“I think he likes her.” Jilly offers me a timid smile. “Why did you live here?”

I rake for a few moments and gather my thoughts. “My mom died when I was a baby. Her parents disowned her for getting pregnant. She kept me, but she got sick and there wasn’t anyone who wanted me after she passed away. I grew up in foster care.”

“That sucks.”

I lean against the rake’s handle. “In King’s Crossing, there are over three thousand kids in foster care. You’re lucky you ended up with Maryanne. She’s one of the good ones. How long have you been here? Is this your first foster home?”

Jilly shakes her head. “I spent a couple of nights with a family while a lady at social services searched for my mom and talked to my aunts. My mom’s in Greece living on a rich guy’s yacht, and the last thing she wants is me dragging her down. My dad’s sister is too sick and didn’t want the responsibility, though I can mostly take care of myself. My mom’s sisters have their own families and said they didn’t have time to add an extra kid.” She wipes away a tear. “I sat outside her office and listened to her go down the list.”

The list of family who didn’t want a sixteen-year old girl.

She seems too timid and immature to emancipate herself, and now that she’s under Maryanne’s roof, Maryanne won’t let her. At seventeen, I would have, but Maryanne said no. She said she’d miss me too much, but I suspect it was to give me one last year of childhood.

Jilly clams up, and we both wrestle with the idea we’re alone.

Zane said he’s falling in love with me, but I don’t know if I can believe it. We’ve been together only a few days. His mental state is shaky, and I know better than to depend on him for emotional support. I don’t want to regret letting him make love to me in his office. I tremble inside whenever he’s around, and looking into his big brown puppy-dog eyes, I want to give him anything he needs.

I’m not the first woman who’s fallen victim to his wounded expression, not the first woman he’s lured into bed, but I want to be his last. I wish I could trust him, but after years of being let down, I can’t. That’s partly Maryanne’s fault, drumming it into my head I’m the only one who can take care of me. Too bad so many people have proven her right.

I need to give Zane time to earn my trust. If he wants to earn it.

I think he does. I hope he does.

Whenever I think about what he did to me in his office, I turn all gooey inside. I wonder if it will change things between us. I’ll find out in the morning when I go to work.

Jilly and I settle on the swing after we’re done, falling into an uneasy silence. I don’t know what Maryanne wants me to say to her. We’re different, but the same.

Maybe we’re too different and she won’t listen to me.

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