Page 30 of Amethyst Flame
Oops, I shouldn’t know anything about lil half-sis’s juvie record. “Otherwise why would you bother calling now?”
Another long pause. Oh yeah,thatgothim. And my moths hadn’t even exploded anything.
“Bri is going through some hard times,” he said at last. “You have every right to hate me. But she doesn’t deserve it. She didn’t know anything about you until very recently. Please, just… If she calls you again, just hang up.”
That was exactly what I’d done. So why did it feel wrong now?
Of all the people who knew about “going through some hard times”…
“Fine,” I said tightly. “I’ll ignore her like you ignored me. Just don’t be surprised if she hates you as much as I do.”
I ended the call with a really stiff finger point—about as emotionally cathartic as not slamming my door.
Mom’s bedroom door was closed when I peeked out, so I trudged back to the kitchen where Jacob was staring in bug-eyed alarm at the many pots on the stove.
“I was going to stir?” He held his hands out like he wanted to cast a Legendelirium spell, and I almost smiled.
“I’m more of a microwaver myself,” I assured him. “But I got this.”
I finished up and had him set the table while I went back down the hall to knock at Mom’s door. “Hey. Dinner’s ready.”
When she didn’t answer, I tapped again as I cracked open the door.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, the top dresser drawer pulled half open. A photograph was turned upside-down on her knee and she was looking into the mirror, but she turned quickly to me and stood. “Oh, coming.” She slid the photo into the drawer and bustled toward me.
I already knew the photo was of her andhim—before me. I’d found it a long time ago when I was searching for hidden Christmas presents, aspiring spy that I’d been. No names or date, but I hadn’t needed any. The joy in their smiles, the intimacy in how their bodies had bent together—it had been love.
Not the kind that lasted, though.
“I called him,” I told her. “Everything’s all right.”
Her dark eyes searched mine. And maybe I was getting better at spying and lying because she smiled back.
Or maybe she was lying too.
We got halfway through dinner and then Swann showed up. She and Mom hugged excitedly; they hadn’t seen each other since Swann went east. My BFF and my coulda-been BF eyed each other more warily. But for a little while, it was like old times: Swann telling the best stories, me adding color commentary and semi-off-color jokes, Mom playing the straight man and clucking her tongue. Jacob got to be the appreciative audience, although maybe it was the big serving of spicy tomato pork chops that kept him quiet. Poor Dane was missing out.
Mom said she’d do dishes since I’d finished cooking, and she shooed us away. “Go play outside,” she said. “It’s nice tonight.”
We diverted past Swann’s Bimmer to grab the beer she’d brought then hopped the fence to the other half of the duplex. The neighbors had already decamped to their summer home, and their backyard was a mini xeriscaped paradise of palo verde trees and agave that shouldn’t go to waste.
Jacob glanced around. “No security system?”
Swann sniffed. “Not everyone worries about criminals all the time.”
“It’s only paranoia if someoneisn’tout to get you.” I threw myself into one of the Adirondacks—after checking it. With my luck lately there’d be a scorpion, rattlesnake, or bog gnome lurking there.
I let out a slow breath. Maybe being back at BantaMatrix had freaked me out more than I thought.
Swann distributed the dark bottles, and I popped mine with another sigh.
“Okay, spill,” she said, settling back into the chaise next to mine.
I did—spilled half the beer straight down my throat, most of my tale of woe spewing up immediately thereafter: Banta PTSD, Dad trauma, not enough explosions…
Jacob, who’d propped himself against a low stone border rather than take the other seat next to Swann, cleared his throat. “Ah, should you be saying all this out loud?”
I gulped half the remainder of the beer then glared at him. “Told you. No security here.”
