Chapter 30
Thirty
As I step onto the staircase on Thursday morning, Ryder’s voice carries through the downstairs hallway. His parents’ voices weave around it, and I slow at the bottom of the stairs, not wanting to interrupt.
“—just saying, you’ve got shadows under your eyes," Mrs. Hamilton is saying.
“Mom.”
“I’m allowed to observe. I’m your mother.”
“He’s fine, Trish,” Mr. Hamilton’s voice has a comfortable rumble to it. “He looks good. Doesn’t he look good?”
“He looks tired.”
“He looks like a performer before a big show.”
I’m carrying my study prep, ready for a tutoring session I’m not sure Ryder will show up to. I hope I can edge around the sitting room and disappear into the library unnoticed.
“Oh, hi there.”
I freeze, hugging the books and papers in my arms, and pivot to see Mrs. Hamilton smiling and waving at me.
The sitting room feels different with the Hamiltons in it. The fireplace is less chaotic and is actually homely. The armchairs and chaise actually look comfortable against the backdrop of Mrs. Hamilton’s bright cardigan and Mr. Hamilton’s broad, relaxed presence.
“Hi,” I say. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Mrs. Hamilton replies. “Come over here. You’re Alice, right?”
I glance at Ryder. He’s sitting on the settee across from his parents, and he’s giving me the same neutral expression he’s been wearing since Monday.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Mrs. Hamilton pats the seat beside her. “Sit down for a minute. We feel terrible that we’ve spent an entire evening here and haven’t properly met you.”
I move closer to them, but I don’t sit. It feels too intimate to join his parents when I’ve barely spoken to Ryder for days now.
“Ryder was telling us you’ve only just moved to Victoria Falls,” Mrs. Hamilton says. “How are you finding it?”
“It’s a lot to take in,” I say honestly. “But the school has an incredible reputation.”
“Oh, Ashworth is something else, isn’t it?” She leans forward. “I told Ryder, I said, this is the kind of place that opens doors. You get your diploma from a school like this and people notice.”
“Trish,” Mr. Hamilton says, the word carrying a specific weight.
“I’m just saying what’s true.”
“School isn’t everything,” Mr. Hamilton says, nodding at his son. “But I want better for you. I didn’t graduate and look where I ended up.”
“But I’m going to make it, Dad,” Ryder says, standing. “I’m going to get that record deal, and I’m going to retire you.”
“Ryder, you don’t…”
“Dad, I do worry about you,” Ryder says, his hand pressing against the space above his heart. “And Mom, I’m going to get you back into nursing school. I know it’s where you want to be. But guys… I can do it without school. I promise.”
“I just don’t want you missing out on an opportunity,” his mom says softly.
“And I don’t want to be distracted from my biggest opportunity,” Ryder answers.
I back away, cradling my study materials. “I should leave you.”
“Ryder?” his mom sends him a questioning look.
Ryder grabs his copy of the novel and his tablet from the small table near the settee. “Alice, wait. I’ve got my stuff if you still want to help me.”
I can’t help glancing at the hopeful faces of Ryder’s parents before I land on him. “Do you even want to do the work?”
“If I finish it, I won’t hear about it again, and I can just focus on the showcase.”
A voice inside me tells me to refuse him help. To tell him to fix his own mess. But another voice, deeper and closer to my core, reminds me of the way he pieced my music box together, and the way he held me while I cried.
I sigh, looking him up and down. Is that boy still in there?
Ryder tilts his head, and the muscle in his jaw flexes. “Alice?”
“Fine.” I turn to the hallway. “It was nice to meet you all.”
As I make my way to the hallway, Ryder quickly says goodbye to his parents and then jogs to catch up to me.
We’re almost at the library door when Miranda appears at the end of the hallway.
“Alice,” she whispers briskly. “Mrs. Rodriguez is here.”
I stop and turn, almost dropping my materials. “Now?”
“See, I told you this wasn’t a good time to tutor him,” Miranda says, flushed in a way I’ve never seen her.
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper back. “Just let me set this stuff down and I’ll join you.”
Miranda glances at Ryder. “Give us thirty minutes.”
Miranda leaves for the front door, and I’m quick to go into the library and abandon my armful of stuff.
Ryder follows me into the library, double-taking over his shoulder and then looking me up and down. The questions written into his expression are obvious. Why are Miranda and I acting like we have each other’s back? Who are we meeting and why?
But right now, I don’t feel like filling him in. He can either wait, or ditch our session like I already suspected he would.
I leave the library without a word and meet up with Miranda as she welcomes Mrs. Rodriguez into the house.
“Alice.” The social worker smiles upon seeing me. “You look well.”
“Thank you.” I reply, following Miranda as she leads us into the sitting room.
“Trish and Gavin,” Miranda calls out. “Do you mind giving us the room? It’s just a private matter.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Hamilton is immediately up. She moves across and helps her husband out of his armchair.
My heart aches as I see the pain in Mr. Hamilton’s steps, and the poor way he grips his wife’s hand.
Poor Ryder. They’re always on his mind.
“Who’s this?” Mrs. Rodriguez asks, raising her clipboard and pen.
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton,” Miranda says smoothly. “They are our guests and the parents of one of my clients. Ryder. You met him when you brought Alice here.”
Mrs. Rodriguez lowers her clipboard, intrigue in her expression. “Oh, lovely. Do you visit regularly?”
“Afraid not,” Mrs. Hamilton says, arm around her husband. “But our son is playing in a big showcase tomorrow night, and we couldn’t miss it.”
“Oh, how nice for you,” Mrs. Rodriguez says. “I’m Lucia Rodriguez. Alice’s social worker.”
Mrs. Hamilton’s eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Just a routine visit,” Mrs. Rodriguez adds with a cheery smile. “Nothing too serious.”
“Well,” Mr. Hamilton says, reading the room and nodding at his wife. “We’ll leave you to your meeting.”
“Thank you,” Miranda is quick to say as the Hamiltons make their way to the staircase.
“Shall we sit?” Mrs. Rodriguez asks. “I appreciate you making the time for me this morning.”
“Of course.” Miranda sets her planner on the cushion beside her and folds her hands. “We want to be as cooperative as possible.”
Mrs. Rodriguez uncaps her pen and looks down at her notes. “Alice, I just want to check in. How are you settling in?”
“Better than I expected,” I say. “My aunt and I are still figuring each other out. But I think we will.”
Mrs. Rodriguez writes something. “Are you sleeping? Eating regularly?”
“Yes, to both.”
“Do you feel safe here?”
“Yes.”
The word comes out without delay. Mrs. Rodriguez writes, nods, and moves to the next question.
“Did you have your therapy session with Dr. Novak?”
“Yes, and I have my next session this Saturday.”
“Good.” She glances at Miranda. “Now, in terms of Alice’s day-to-day needs. For instance, school transport, meals, any medical or academic requirements. You feel those are being met?”
“Yes,” Miranda says. “I haven’t left Alice without anything she needs.”
I bite my tongue. Hard.
I think about the nights when Miranda was out late at meetings. When I didn’t know if anyone was available to drive me home from school. When Mrs. Gallagher wasn’t here, and there wasn’t a meal cooked for me.
But I don’t say it.
“Alice?” Mrs. Rodriguez asks. “Was there something you wanted to add?”
“I think my aunt can provide for me,” I say tactfully. “I just think we need to work on our communication.”
Miranda clears her throat. “Yes, we got into that last night.”
Mrs. Rodriguez flinches. “An argument?”
“No,” I blurt. “Well, maybe? I was being a bit harsh.”
“She was standing up for herself,” Miranda says with a wry smirk. “I was actually very proud.”
Mrs. Rodriguez looks between us with curiosity. “Would you say a bond is forming here?”
Miranda and I take a beat to look at each other, and together we reply, “Yes.”
“Just,” I add with an encouraging smile.
Mrs. Rodriguez makes another note, nodding. “Good, good. This is very promising.”
The questions continue. Whether I have space of my own. Whether I feel comfortable coming to Miranda if something is wrong. Whether there’s anything I need that I don’t currently have. I answer each one, feeling like I have nothing to hide.
Yes, my aunt isn’t my confidant. I don’t see her as the person who can fix my problems. But I’m learning there are more people in the world, and I can open up when I’m ready. People like Madison, Mr. Deluca, and my guidance counsellor. They all helped me without needing anything from me.
And then there’s Ryder…
Or, there was Ryder.
Near the end of our interview, Mrs. Rodriguez looks up from her clipboard and around the room, as if she’s taking inventory. Her gaze moves to the mantelpiece, where I notice Miranda has put up a photograph in a silver frame. I have to look twice to be sure.
It’s one of my shots from The Factory on Saturday night. The stage lights cut through the dark, the crowd blurred beneath them, and Ryder at the center of it. He’s not performing yet, just standing there with his guitar, looking like he’s deciding something.
Miranda actually printed it.
And it’s not just tucked away in her office. It’s out on display for anyone to see.
She’s proud of me.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” Mrs. Rodriguez asks, her eyes back on me.
I think about the letters in the filing cabinet. The college pages on my laptop, and the legal firms bookmarked on my phone. The escape plan I’d been building in case I needed to use it.
“I think I’m where I’m supposed to be,” I say. “For now.”
Mrs. Rodriguez holds my gaze for a moment, and then she caps her pen and smiles. “That’s good to hear, Alice.”