No Matter What

“We’re going home,” Richard said, and kept walking, leaving Trevor to fall in behind him or not.

Good. Great. His meeting with Vice Principal Callahan had made him sullen, too, and about as mature, behaving like the average middle schooler, forget high school.

And now he had to figure out how to be the parent.

* * *

CAITLYN SNATCHED A carrot that her mother had just peeled and crunched into it. Molly pretended to slap at her hand but then took another carrot from the crisper and began to peel. She watched with pleasure as Cait plopped her book bag on the breakfast bar, hopped on a stool and hooked her feet on it. Orange bits flew as she chewed and talked.

“Wow, I don’t know what his problem is, but today Mr. Sanchez was a total—” She grinned at her mother’s raised eyebrow. They’d agreed years ago that she could express honest opinions of her teachers but not use profanity or obscenities to do so. “Jerk. He was a jerk today. He was in some kind of snit because nobody, like nobody, passed his stupid quiz. Of course it’s our fault. Did it occur to him that maybe he failed to successfully teach a concept? I mean, duh.” Another enthusiastic crunch. “So he tried again, and I still don’t get it. Who needs advanced algebra anyway?”

“Engineers, I’d guess. Mathematicians, computer geeks, scientists.”

“You know this for a fact.”

Molly laughed. “Well, no. I confess I got an A in second-year algebra and can no longer remember a single thing I learned. I thank God on my knees daily that you haven’t needed my help.”

“About that.” Cait reached for the zipper of her backpack. “See, there’s this thing I don’t get…” She giggled at her mother’s expression. “I’ll figure it out myself, thank you.”

She rambled on for several minutes. Molly would have basked in the pleasure of having Cait talking to her, really talking, if she didn’t know that soon—any minute—she herself would have to drop a bomb on the mood. Obviously, Cait and Trevor had not spoken since he’d slunk out at his father’s side without finishing the day.

She would have waited until after dinner if it weren’t for the possibility of the phone ringing any minute. Unless Richard Ward had suspended his son’s phone privileges? Yeah, sure.

Cait finished telling Molly about a friend who was being such an idiot about this guy who treated her like garbage, and why would she put up with that?

Usually Molly would have commented. Instead, she took a minute to look at her daughter and think, If only you knew how much I love you.

She’d been so in love with her one-and-only child since the day she was born. It almost seemed unfair that Caitlyn was darn near perfect. Molly had been waiting for years for the other shoe to drop. Life was never this good. People weren’t this good.

But there she sat, delicate face open and cheerful. She had big blue eyes and a cloud of wavy, strawberry-blond hair. Thanks to her father’s genes, she was both shorter than her mother and finer boned. She gave an impression of fragility that her years in dance belied. Cait could be tough.

Bracing herself, Molly stirred the homemade chili simmering on the stove. “Cait, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her daughter tilted her head. “Wow. You sound serious.”

“It’s about Trevor.”

Cait stiffened.

Get it out quick. “There was another incident involving Trevor. Aaron Latter bumped Trevor in the hall between classes, and Trevor attacked him. He hurt Aaron badly. Mr. Whitlock had to pull Trevor off Aaron. I know how you feel about Trevor—”

“No, you don’t.” Cait was already scrambling off the stool. “What did you do? You didn’t kick him out, did you?”

“I suspended him. You know I had no choice.”

“Oh, right,” Caitlyn said in an ugly voice. The hostility that filled her eyes was shocking. “Did you even ask him his side?”

“He has no interest in talking to me.”

“Gee, I wonder why that is? God, Mom. How could you?”

Molly continued with her dinner preparations. She’d tell any parent not to overreact to teenage drama. Be matter-of-fact, she would say. Explain, but do not justify yourself. Be a reasonable adult. A role model.

She reached for the olive oil. “You know school policy on fighting. This is his second infraction within a week. And from what I’m told, this wasn’t a fight. It was an assault.”

“Oh, that’s bull!” her darling daughter snarled. She grabbed her book bag and in a violent movement flung it toward a chair in the dining nook. It skidded across the seat and thudded to the floor. “Aaron Latter is a sneak and a liar.”

“Cait, there were witnesses. Lots of witnesses.” Explain but do not justify, echoed in her brain. Yes, but where do I draw the line?

“You know he didn’t ‘bump’ Trev by accident, don’t you? Aaron has been coming on to me. He’s practically stalking me. Trevor told him to back off, all right? So the little passive-aggressive creep thought he could get away with smashing into him in the hall, like oh, oops.”

It sounded reasonable. It might even be true. It also might not be.

“You’ve never mentioned having a problem with Aaron,” she said mildly. She sliced a tomato carefully, aware she was clenching the knife handle too tightly.

Cait wasn’t nearly as pretty when she was sneering. “I don’t tell you everything, you know.”

“I thought we had a good relationship.”

Cait’s pointed chin shot up. “I thought we did, too. Until you decided you hated the only guy I’ve ever really liked. The only one who’s ever really liked me.”

The reasonable adult broke. “Okay, now that’s ridiculous. Boys have been trailing around behind you since you were five years old. Remember Ben whatever his name was, who asked you to marry him?”

“That was kindergarten!”

Molly talked right over her. “You were the only girl in Mrs. Carlson’s fifth-grade class to have a boyfriend. Who wrote you poetry.”

“We were children! Like it’s the same.”

“Middle school dances,” Molly continued inexorably. “I chaperoned them. Don’t imply you weren’t popular. You were the only freshman in high school invited to the senior prom—”

“Which you didn’t let me go to.”

“You were fourteen years old! He was eighteen.” The knife was still clutched in her hand, but she’d given up slicing.

“I didn’t care about him, okay?” Cait’s pale, redhead’s skin was a furious red. “I love Trevor, and you’re…you’re persecuting him because he likes me, too!” She shoved one of the stools and it crashed to its side on the hardwood floor.

“Caitlyn Callahan!”

“I’m through listening to you,” Cait yelled, and raced from the room. The front door opened and banged shut.

Molly let the knife fall to the cutting board, braced her hands on the tiled countertop and closed her eyes.

Dear God, she asked, why didn’t we get this over with when she was thirteen? Why did raging hormones have to hit now?

Easy answer: Trevor Ward.

“I do not hate Trevor,” Molly said aloud. “I am more adult than that.” She thought.