she tried to go preppy with stuff from thrift shops, but it had made her look like a total poseur. Knee socks had gone away for a reason. Her current look was her version of steampunk. It wasn’t working, either, but at the moment she couldn’t decide what to pursue next. Besides, she didn’t have the dough.
She sneaked a glance at Mrs. Bellamy, but the old lady caught her.
“So this accident,” said Mrs. Bellamy. “You simply happened to come upon it.”
“Yep.” Cara nodded. “Just like that.”
“And it was at the end of the driveway.”
“Across the road from the driveway. Motorcycle versus ditch.”
“It was Cara who saw him first,” Ruby ventured in a tiny voice.
“I spotted him out the window,” said Cara. “A puff of smoke and the sun glinting off a piece of metal. He must have just crashed.”
“I see.”
At least Mrs. Bellamy didn’t say something patronizing like it was a good thing Cara had come running for help and all that crap. It was kind of a no-brainer. It would’ve been simpler if Mom had let her drive the van, but Cara didn’t know how to drive. Mom had shown her the basics, but the stick shift was way too challenging. It was embarrassing. All the kids in her school drove or were currently in driver’s ed. Cara just went to study hall during that block and wished with all her heart she could join the class. Most days the only other kid in study hall was Milo Waxman, an oddball who thought the whole world should ride bicycles or dogsleds or something that didn’t pollute the environment. Cara secretly found him interesting, but it would be social suicide to hang out with him.
She yearned to be normal, whatever normal was. Driving a car and living in one place for more than a few months at a time. But she didn’t like asking her mom for anything, because she knew damn well that Mom would give her and Ruby everything if she could afford it. And she couldn’t afford it.
Cara remembered the day she finally understood that they were poor. And not just ordinary, having-to-clip-coupons poor, but poor like we-don’t-have-a-place-to-live poor. Not long after Dad had died, the three of them had spent several nights “camping” in the van. Mom had acted as if it was a fun adventure, even when the mornings were so cold that the van’s windows were etched with frost. Cara had pretended to be asleep when a park ranger had come along, telling Mom it was time to check and see if the county housing agency had found a place for them yet.
“You’re seventeen, according to the letter your mother sent last night,” said Mrs. Bellamy, interrupting her thoughts.
It wasn’t a question, so Cara simply nodded, happy enough to quit thinking about the past.
“And you’re eight,” the old lady said to Ruby.
The woman wasn’t really old, Cara observed. She just looked that way because she was a sourpuss, and she wore her blond hair in a granny bun.
“Yes,” Ruby replied in a soft, shaky voice.
“What grade are you in?”
“Second grade. My teacher’s name is Ms. Iversen.”
“Your mother said you have special needs. What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ruby trembled as if the old lady were breathing fire. “I...I...”
Mrs. Bellamy blew into a tube on her wheelchair and the thing moved closer to Ruby. “Speak up. I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Ruby looked as if she were about to pee her pants.
Just then Regina came back with a fancy tray loaded with frosted cookies and icy glasses of lemonade. “I brought extra, in case you changed your mind,” she chirped. “Once you taste Wayan’s treats, you won’t be able to resist.”
“Well?” demanded Mrs. Bellamy, glaring at Ruby. “I was asking about your needs. Your special needs.”
Ruby’s mouth moved, forming the words, I’m diabetic, but no sound came out. Cara always hated when Ruby acted ashamed, as if the disease were somehow her own failing.
“She’s diabetic,” Cara snapped. “And no, thank you,” she added as Regina set down the tray. “We both totally appreciate the offer, but she can’t have any of Wayan’s damn cookies.”
Ruby’s hands came up to her cheeks, and her eyes got even rounder. At the same time, Mason Bellamy and Mom walked into the room.
“Well,” said Mom, surveying the situation, “I see everyone is getting along just fine.”
Cara shut her stupid mouth, but she didn’t see any reason to apologize to the dragon lady or to Regina. Her outburst might have cost Mom the job, in which case she owed her mother an apology, not anyone else.
Mom walked right over to Mrs. Bellamy and sat down in the wingback chair beside her. “I’m Faith McCallum,” she said. “I’m glad to meet you.”
“Likewise, I suppose,” said old lady Bellamy. Cara could tell already that she had a way of sizing people up with her eyes.
“This is Regina Jeffries,” said the guy named Mason. He had changed out of his bloody clothes and now wore clean jeans and a white shirt, open at the collar, the cuffs turned back. He was super good-looking for a guy in his thirties. Now Cara understood how Regina fit into the picture—she was his girlfriend. It was obvious by the way she stared at him.
Mom stood up briefly and shook hands with Regina. There was an obvious contrast between the two of them. Regina had every hair in place, while Mom looked...well, just kind of ordinary in a dress with pockets and flat shoes, her damp brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. No makeup. Ever.
“That was more drama than we expected this morning,” said Mason. “How about we start over?”
“Lemonade?” asked Regina. “Cookie?”
“I’m fine,” said Mom. She shifted her focus to Mrs. Bellamy. “I’d love to hear about you—what you need, what you want. Your expectations.”
Mrs. Bellamy narrowed her eyes. “You are to be in charge of assisting me, including the supervision of the two other home health aides who cover the evening and early-morning shifts.”
Mom nodded. “All right.”
“The compensation package includes parking, room and board for one person. I hadn’t anticipated two extra children.”
“I did bring it up in my reply,” Mom said. “Obviously, it’s nonnegotiable.”
Cara’s mother had this thing she did. She usually seemed all meek and mild because she was quiet and small. But when something came up involving the family or people she cared about, there was a subtle shift, and Mom became a rock. She was doing it now, regarding Mrs. Bellamy with a perfectly pleasant expression on her face, but anyone in the room could see that the balance of power had shifted.
Which was funny, Cara reflected, seeing how Mom didn’t have any bargaining power, none at all. She was out of options. Then again, she had nothing to lose, because they had already lost everything. If old lady Bellamy said no deal, Mom would be scrambling for a place in line at the county housing office.
This was not a new situation for the McCallum family. This was the norm, thought Cara, slumping back on the sofa and tucking her chin into her chest.
“You’re slumping.” Suddenly Mrs. Bellamy was talking to Cara. “Sit up straight.”
Cara shot her a look.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m your elder.”
“You sure are,” Cara murmured, then sat up as instructed, all innocence. “Just agreeing with you.”
Then Mrs. Bellamy turned to Ruby. “You’re a beautiful child, but too scrawny. You need