Chapter 15
Fifteen
Miranda and Ryder’s discussion bled into dinner, so it was easy for me to go unnoticed. That is until Miranda finds me in the sitting room, curled up on an armchair with my chemistry textbook on my lap.
“There you are, darling.” Miranda’s heels click against the hardwood as she approaches, holding her leather-bound planner. “I wanted to go over a few things with you.”
I look up, immediately wary. I’m not the one she usually goes over plans with.
She settles onto the sofa across from me, elegantly crossing her legs. “First things first, you remember you have therapy on Saturday morning, yes?”
Begrudgingly, I nod.
“Ten a.m. at Dr. Novak’s office. She comes highly recommended, and I’ve organized the driver for you,” Miranda continues, making a note in her planner. “After everything you’ve been through, it will help to have someone professional to talk to.”
Her tone makes me pause. The caring implies she does understand. She has to understand. She lost her family, too.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
Miranda smiles. “Of course, darling. Which brings me to my next point. Mrs. Rodriguez will be coming for a follow-up visit next Thursday.”
My stomach tightens.
“It’s a routine procedure,” Miranda assures me, her tone still light.
“She’ll want to see that you’re adjusting well.
Attending school, keeping up with your coursework, and settling into your new environment.
” She looks up from her planner, meeting my gaze.
“I need you to present well during her visit, darling. Answer her questions appropriately and show her you’re coping. ”
I swallow hard. The words sound nice, but each sentence was unequivocally a command.
Miranda holds my stare, and I manage, “I will.”
“Good.” Miranda makes another note. “Which brings me to something rather concerning, Alice.”
My chest tightens.
“I finally had time to go through my voicemails.” Her tone is still measured, but the warmth has cooled. “There were calls from your school, but not about the incident with Jasper Whitmore. Care to explain?”
Crap. “I… I…”
“Darling, I looked at your transcripts before agreeing to take you in. Honor roll. Advanced placement courses. Academic excellence. I was quite impressed with your record.”
Double crap.
“So imagine my confusion,” Miranda continues, “when I learn you can’t even manage to stay in your classes for a full period.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Was your academic record accurate, Alice? Or were your parents perhaps... generous with your last school and your grades were inflated?”
The implication hits me like a slap. “My grades were real. My parents didn’t bribe anyone.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Miranda’s patience frays at the edges. “If you’re capable of that level of work, why are you skipping classes?”
“I’m just... I’m having trouble adjusting.”
“Adjusting.” Miranda repeats the word like it tastes sour. “Darling, Mr. Kensington expects you to tutor Ryder. That was our agreement. How exactly do you plan to help him when you can’t even manage your own attendance?”
“I know, but...”
“And what do you think Mrs. Rodriguez will say when she learns about this?” Miranda’s voice sharpens. “Truancy reflects poorly on both of us. It suggests I’m not providing adequate supervision, and that you’re not thriving here.”
“I’m trying—“
“Are you?” Miranda cuts in harshly. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re wallowing. Life doesn’t stop because you’re sad, Alice. Responsibilities don’t pause for grief.”
My throat tightens. “I just need more time.”
Miranda stands, walking to the window overlooking the gloomy valley. “You know, this reminds me of someone.”
I don’t want to ask, but the words come anyway. “Who?”
“Sarah.” She says my mother’s name as if it’s a diagnosis. “She was the same way. Talented at convincing herself that softness was a virtue.”
“What are you…”
“Your mother called it love.” Miranda’s voice doesn’t rise. It drops. “I called it an inability to cope with reality.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
Miranda turns to face me, her expression unreadable. “It’s true. Your mother couldn’t separate feelings from responsibility.” She shakes her head and murmurs a faint laugh. “It’s funny. Our little talk last night brought some memories back.”
Funny? Like how she said she wouldn’t speak ill of the dead?
“She wrote me off, Alice. Decided I was too much trouble and deleted me from her life.” Miranda smooths her jacket sleeve. “I always thought she’d regret it. I suppose now she can’t.”
“How can you talk about her so callously like that?” I say, my voice wavering. “She was a good person and a good mother. She loved me.”
“Oh, she loved you. That’s clear. But love was the only currency your mother had, and it didn’t go very far.” Miranda’s eyes move over me slowly, appraisingly. “You’re proof of that.”
I stand, my chemistry book tumbling to the floor. “What are you talking about? At least my mother felt something. At least she cared about people more than her career.”
Something angry flashes across Miranda’s face.
“You asked me the other night what happened between us,” my aunt’s voice hastens. “You wanted to know why we didn’t speak for twelve years.”
My heart pounds. “Yes.”
“She accused me of exactly what you just did,” Miranda’s voice is cold and precise. “Said I cared more about my career than family.”
“Maybe she was right.”
Miranda’s head tilts back as she unleashes an ugly laugh. “Maybe she was. But I built a life for myself. I survived. Where is she now?”
The cruelty of it steals my breath. “She’s dead, Miranda. She died.”
“And I didn’t.” Miranda’s eyes are hard, glittering. “I have survived because I understand feelings are a luxury, not a foundation.”
“You didn’t even come to her funeral!” The words explode out of me. “She was your only sister! Your only family!”
“Look around.” Miranda’s voice rises to match mine. “This is real life. We have real stress and critical decisions to make. I’m here, not only worrying about my livelihood, but the livelihood of my clients too.”
I retch. Her precious clients.
“I’m in the middle of negotiations that can’t be postponed. Sarah would have…” She stops herself. “Actually, no. She wouldn’t have understood. Sarah made her choices, and I made mine.”
“My parents just died!” I scream, tears streaming down my face. “Don’t you feel anything?”
“Feel?” Miranda almost spits the word. “What good would that do? Your parents drove head-on into a storm, Alice. Did they feel something when they made that choice? Did they stop to think about you?”
“It was an accident!”
“It was carelessness!” Miranda snaps. “Sarah always berated me for making risky decisions. She chose to play it safe and live small. But in the end, it didn’t protect her or you, did it?”
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t process what she’s saying.
“Your parents acted rashly and didn’t think about the consequences.
They left you—left me—to deal with the aftermath of their poor judgment.
“ Every word becomes more venomous as she speaks. “I took you in. I saved you from the foster care system. But frankly, you’re becoming more trouble than you’re worth. ”
As I splutter my shock at her words, something almost apologetic flashes across my aunt’s eyes.
Miranda straightens her jacket, her composure returning like armor. “This is like dealing with your mother all over again. Alice, I said I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to speak ill of the dead.”
Before I can catch them, tears stream down my face.
“No good will come from me comparing you to Sarah,” Miranda says, careful not to make eye contact with me. “I think it’s best you go to your room before we say anything we truly regret.”
The gasp inflames my raw throat. There’s more? Worse than what she’s already said?
“And starting tomorrow,” Miranda continues, flipping through her planner as if she hasn’t utterly devastated me, “you will attend every single class. You will sit for the entire period. You will do your homework and be the student your transcripts claimed you were. Is that clear?”
I can’t answer. I can’t do anything but stumble backward.
“I said, is that clear?”
“Yes,” I choke out.
Then I’m running. Across the sitting room and toward the staircase. My vision blurs with tears. My breath comes in gasping sobs.
On the second-floor landing, I collide with something solid and warm.
“Whoa, Alice, what—“
Ryder’s voice cuts through my panic, and I realize I’ve run directly into his chest. The softness of his navy hoodie presses against my face, and he smells like guitar strings and something woodsy that might be cologne.
“Let me go,” I gasp, trying to push past him.
But his hands come up to steady me. “Alice, what happened? I heard yelling.”
“Let me go!” I push against him again, but my strength is gone.
Instead of releasing me, his arms pull around me. My face presses against his chest, and I can hear the rhythmic beating of his heart beneath the fabric.
I know this warmth. This safety. The thing I wish I didn’t need.
The recognition makes me cry harder.
“No,” I sob, beating my fists against his sweater. “Let me go. Let me go!”
I pound against his chest with all the strength I have, but he doesn’t budge.
His arms tighten around me, one hand cradling the back of my head, threading his fingers through my hair.
It’s different from when he shielded me from the rain.
No crowd pressing in. No storm to breathe through.
Just the dim hallway, his heartbeat, and the fact he isn’t letting go.
“It’s okay.” His quiet voice rumbles in his chest. “Just let it out.”
“No. No, I can’t.”
“You don’t have to be strong right now. Just let it out.”
I keep up the struggle. My fists hit his chest and shoulders, but he barely flinches. He absorbs every blow as if he has nowhere else to be.
“Ryder,” I cry. “Don’t.”