Page 32 of The Wrong Family

“You’re fast,” she said, when he came back a few minutes later carrying two paper boats, one in each hand. His backpack, sticking out like a turtle shell in front of him, had a stray blob of mustard on it. Juno took the meal without looking at Sam. When she raised her eyes to his face, he was already eating and staring at the lake where the teenagers had been floating earlier. The birds, which had forsaken their foraging for Juno’s cereal, were starting to peck at Sam’s feet for new crumbs. He consumed his food so quickly, never taking his eyes from the water, she was unsure how he could have tasted it.

She finally remembered her manners. “Thank you, Samuel.”

He turned the full beam of his smile on her. And then just as suddenly it fell away. “Please, call me Sam,” he said. “I hate my full name.”

Juno would admit that she was out of touch with young people, but she was fairly certain most of them didn’t sound like young British aristocrats when they spoke.

“Okay. Sam,” Juno said slowly. “I like that better, as well.”

He grinned at her. Then, “So you’re still homeless?”

“Yeah,” Juno said. “I am.”

She watched as he kicked his legs against the brick wall, and then, all of a sudden, he spun around and sat down next to her. Juno found this almost childlike in its innocence. Most people moved away from the homeless, not toward.

“How come?”

“Life happened. It doesn’t always happen the way you want.”

He seemed to mull over this for a while before nodding. “Why’d you come to Seattle?”

“How do you know I’m not from Seattle?”

“I guess I don’t. But most of the people I know aren’t from here.”

“Well, you’re right,” Juno said.And that’s interesting, she added to herself.

“I’m from New Mexico,” she said. “I used to be tan all the time, now…” She looked up to the sky where the clouds had obscured the sun again. Sam laughed.

“What was your job, before?”

“You make a lot of assumptions, Sam.”

“That’s what my dad says.” Sam was unabashed, almost like he’d taken this as a compliment. “He says that making assumptions makes an ass out of everyone involved.”

“That right?” Juno couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d heard Nigel say those very words in that very tone to the boy, but here she was, seeing how he interpreted them.

“I was a therapist once, a very long time ago.” Juno paused to gauge Sam’s reaction. She had his attention, his murky eyes fixed on her face. This kid ticked in a different way; she just couldn’t tell how yet. She waited for him to ask the question she could tell was perched on his tongue.

“Why did you stop?”

“You never stop being a therapist.”

He thought for a minute, sucking his cheeks in like a fish, and then reworded his question. “What was your last day at work like?”

Juno felt jarred; he’d thrown her off again. In the end, she couldn’t lie to him; there was something about him that told her he’d see right through it anyway. She’d always noticed that about him during their lakeside conversations. And really, what difference did it make? Sam knew exactly what Juno was, and yet he didn’t seem to care.

“It was sad. I didn’t want it to be my last day, but sometimes there’s no way around these things.”

Sam considered this, his forehead furrowed. “You felt out of control.”

“Yes, Sam, I did,” Juno said slowly. “Unfortunately, we aren’t the only ones in control of our story arcs. Outsiders have an influence, too.”

“But we let the outsiders have an influence.”

“Yes and no. When you’re an adult you can control who you allow into your life, but you can’t control how they’ll behave once they’re there.”

“Kids don’t get that choice.”

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