“Well, I don’t know what it would be like to have boys, do I? Maybe it would be easier. Women have to try so much harder, and when you’re not serious about anything, when you’re girly and frivolous, how do I know you’re going to be successful? I never needed a proper career, did I? I got lucky with your father, I only had to work part-time here and there. But the world is a different place now, and you’re all going to have to make your own way…”
“But”—I softened at the genuine fear in her words—“but you don’t have to try so hard, do you? The twins would be fine going to any college. Community college, state schools. They’ll be okay!”
“We need them to get ascholarship. We have no college fundfor them. And God knows if those two were saddled with student debt they would sink like stones. There’s only so much we can do to help them, and if we can’t even pay for their college…”
I felt my mouth drop open.
“Why didn’t you think of any of this before you had the twins?”
“The twins were an accident, Rachel!”
“A what?!”
“For God’s sake, I was only thirty-eight when I had them… These things happen. Your father and I planned on sending two children to college; we saved up all your lives so we could send you and Jane to whichever schools you wanted. And then life happened, and suddenly we were paying for day care for two at the same time that Jane was going to college. We always meant to start the twins’ college funds, but things kept coming up—electrical work on the house, the year your father got laid off, and your college tuition costing more than expected, and now… well, here we are.”
I stepped shakily over to the porch steps and sat down. I’d had no idea—noidea. I thought of my fancy liberal arts education at Whitman and the hundreds of thousands of dollars my parents had spent so I could study literature and have the time of my life for four years just so I could end up in a dead-end tech job…
“I’m sorry.” I looked up at Mom. “I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t. We didn’t want any of you to know. We just want you to be happy.” She brushed past me and paused on her way to the front door. “Please don’t tell the twins.”
As the door closed behind her, I dropped my face into my hands. I was so dehydrated that no tears would come, but my eyes and throat burned.We just want you to be happy.And look at me now: ancient and single, making just enough money to get by in a job I hated, plagued by zits and orange hair and in imminent need of dentures.
Footsteps crunched across the grass and twigs in front of me. I raised my eyes and fought back an incredulous laugh. Someone, somewhere—probably the ghost of my Grandma Pearl—was messing with me for their own entertainment.
Christopher Butkus was walking toward me. He looked like he’d showered, wearing a fresh white T-shirt with preppy pink shorts and white sneakers with tall socks. He smiled, clutching a Tupperware container. I wondered, without really caring very much, how much he’d just heard of my conversation with Mom.
“That was some performance on the river,” he said by way of greeting.
I stood, my face so numb I couldn’t manage a word in response. I knew I should say something along the lines of “Thank you for saving my sister’s life,” but I couldn’t muster the strength.
Instead I found myself asking, “Is your family stalking my family?”
“Yes,” he said seriously. “We actually work for the FBI and have been collecting data on the Weisses for some time now.”
I didn’t respond, unnerved by the actual possibility that my mom really was under investigation for the SAT scandal. I dropped my eyes to the container in Christopher’s hands.
“My aunt baked cookies.” He held it out to me. “I thought you might like some.”
“Thank you. Very thoughtful.”
He looked—and smelled—so good that I wanted to be gone from his presence immediately. Him seeing me in my current state was almost more than I could bear at this point. “Well, I should probably go change; I’m a bit—”
He took a sudden step toward me. “Actually, Rachel, the cookies were just an excuse.”
“What?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
I clutched the plastic container to my chest, feeling faint, and nodded for him to continue, hoping it would be quick.
“I…” He looked around. “Could we sit?” He gestured toward the cushioned sofa on the porch.
“Okay.” I followed him and settled into the opposite corner of the sofa, keeping as much distance between us as possible.
He flashed a nervous grin at me and then lowered his eyes to his lap, where his fingers were tented. I was filled with a rush of foreboding, though I couldn’t fathom what he was about to say.
“What is this about?” I asked. “If it’s about Stephen, you two should work that out on your own. Leave me out of it.”
