You’re her guardian and the only parent she has. Like it or not, you have every right to be concerned.
She didn’t have a choice if she wanted to keep Annie safe and out of harm’s way. Still, it felt wrong and disconcerting to rifle through Annie’s things, knowing it was firmly in the gray area.
After she was done checking the drawers, Libby pushed herself up to her feet. Her knees were sore and had carpet burns, but she ignored them and walked over to the closet. There, she rifled through the clothes, pushing them from one side to the next. Once she was done, she patted the walls and felt for any secret compartments.
Libby was slowly losing her mind.
Having Annie come home at odd hours with dark circles under her eyes and very little color to her cheeks was unsettling. Even worse was how little she ate and the rancid smell that clung to her clothes whenever she came too close. It was a smell Libby couldn’t identify, no matter how much she tried.
And it wasn’t for a lack of trying either.
After hours spent scouring the internet for a diagnosis and symptoms, Libby had ended up right back where she started.She still had no idea what was wrong with Annie or why she was spending her morning off playing detective rather than relaxing and putting her feet up.
The thought of Annie being in trouble made Libby toss and turn at night.
But no matter how bad it was, she wanted to be prepared.
It was how she’d convinced herself to creep down the hallway and walk into Annie’s room like it wasn’t a big deal. And it was how she found herself throwing Annie’s clothes on the bed and rifling through them.
Her fingers were trembling, and she was sweating even more, although the window was open, and a fan whirred in the background.
The burning sensation in her stomach, low and unpleasant, remained.
Libby perched on the edge of Annie’s bed and scanned the clothes, running her fingers carefully through the fabric. Then, she folded a few items and hung up the rest, taking care to leave everything exactly as she found it. Once she was done with the closet, she went over the drawers again, pushing everything back to where it was. Desperate to find something to assuage her fears, and with a growing sense of hysteria at her own sense of incompetence, Libby’s heart started to race as she glanced around the room. Finally, Libby went into the bathroom and frantically tore through it, throwing half-empty shampoo bottles and used razors on the floor.
What was the matter with her?
Why had she ever believed she was going to be able to handle someone like Annie?
The social worker obviously hadn’t done her job properly.
A year later, the two of them were still adjusting, and Libby was beginning to think that was never going to change. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—her flushedcheeks, heaving chest, and the wild mane around her face—Libby stopped. She gripped the sink and released a deep breath.
Her heart was still pounding as she splashed cold water on her face.
Get a grip. Go back outside and watch TV or something. Annie doesn’t have to know you were in here, and you didn’t find anything anyway.
But not finding anything didn’t ease the knots in her stomach.
After putting everything back in the bathroom, Libby shuffled out with her shoulders hunched and her head lowered. In the living room, she paced, picking up and setting down several knick-knacks as she did. An hour later, she forced herself onto the couch and picked up the remote.
Hours later, when the sun was setting below the horizon, bathing the world in hues of pink and purple, the front door clicked open. Libby was washing the pasta when she glanced over her shoulder and saw Annie walk in, even paler than before. She left her shoes and bag by the door and kept her hoodie up in spite of the sweltering heat.
“Is dinner ready?”
Libby swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It’ll be a few minutes. Why don’t you wash up?”
Annie said nothing and disappeared into her room.
Libby added the pasta to the pot of tomato sauce and stirred. Then, she took the tray of chicken out of the oven. She was setting everything on the table when Annie came back out but wouldn’t meet her gaze. In silence, the two of them sat across from each other, eating by the pale and dim light of the yellow lamp.
“So, how was school?”
Annie shrugged.
Libby twirled a spoonful of her pasta. “Have you given the volunteer thing with Ms. Ricker any more thought? I think it’s a great idea.”
Annie pushed her salad around her plate. “No, not really.”
