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“Maybe you know somebody or could put in a good word to help her out,” Marge added.
I looked up to catch his expression. His face held the slightest hint of a grin. Of course he enjoyed that I’d had a bad day.
“That discussion can wait until after dinner.” He looked at me. “Safer that way.”
The way he said it sunk my hopes. He didn’t want to start a fight while I had food in front of me and sharp utensils, lest it end the way our last one had.
My plate of meatloaf had hit him square in the back as he walked away in the high school cafeteria. Needless to say, my outburst had only addedcrazy girlto the label ofpathetic loserthat everyone in school applied to me.
The humiliation had kept me home calling in sick for a week. When I returned to school, the stares were stronger than ever, and the whispered comments even more hurtful. We left town soon after that.
“I was just sayin’,” his aunt said.
“Later, Marge.” The gruff words made his warning clear.
She started to open her mouth, but I cut her off. “After dinner would be fine.”
For a moment Marge’s lips formed a thin line, but then she gave up the battle. “Angela, this dinner is delicious.”
* * *
Marge finished chewingthe last bite from her plate and set her fork down. “What’d you think?” she asked Boone.
“Not bad,” he admitted.
“Thank you.” I smiled at the compliment his words didn’t convey, but his clean plate did.
He pushed back and stood. “My office,” he said with a head tilt toward the stairs.
“I’ll take care of the dishes while you two talk,” Marge offered.
I followed Boone up the stairs. It felt like I was heading up to the gallows so Boone could deliver the message out of Marge’s earshot. In my mind, I imagined it… “No way in hell am I helping you, so you better get the hell off my property and go back to that boyfriend of yours.”
Wait, how would he know about Kevin? I hadn’t said anything.
He motioned me into the sparsely appointed office and closed the door behind us.
I stiffened my back for the assault.
His face remained impassive. “Angela, would you like me to help you get a job in town?”
“Yes.”
He stayed silent, daring me to say more.
“Please.” The word stung as it came out. I’d just given him the tool to hurt me yet again. But my fear of returning to Boston demanded I expose myself to that, if necessary.
“The rumor mill tells me you stopped in at Pizza Canoe looking for work, and with Rusty at the gas station.”
“And every other business I could find,” I added.
“Tell me, why would a rich girl like you want a job slinging pizza or pumping gas?”
I ignored the rich-girl dig. “Because I need money to get to my mother’s.” I refused to elaborate on how Kevin had stolen from me, and I didn’t care to endure any more of his questions. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“I only know of one opening for you.”
Had I heard him right? He’d heard of an opening? I allowed myself a sigh of relief.
