Don't You Trust Me? (24 page)

She took a deep breath.

“I found the suitcase.”

I nodded; I had guessed that.

“I put everything back.”

“I see,” I said, and thought about this information. That meant that only Brooke knew the full extent of my activities during my time in Albany. No wonder I had heard nothing about the suitcase.

“It wasn't easy. I kind of had to guess about some of the charities. There was just so much
money
,” she said, her eyes widening in wonder as she remembered the experience of disemboweling the suitcase. “It was
everywhere,
in the pockets, in the zippered section, in the
lining
.”

I nodded, also remembering. Yes, that suitcase had reminded me of a roast chicken à la Mrs. Barnes: stuffed to bursting with goodies, and then an herb butter applied under the skin to enrich the flavor. I sighed.

Brooke continued, the knot of concentration still creasing her brow, “If anybody questions the way I divvied it up, I'll take the blame. I'll say that you left the money with me and I got it mixed up.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Do you mean why did I put it back, or why would I take the blame?”

“Either. Both.” Once again I found myself staring at Brooke, totally mystified. Right when I thought I had normal, feeling, empathic humanity figured out, Brooke would do something that stumped me.

“Because—” She took another deep breath. “Because I don't understand you, and I really, really want to.”

Well, that made two of us.

I shook my head, signaling noncomprehension.

“Oh, sorry. I'm explaining this wrong. It's hard to do, because it's kind of embarrassing.”

I considered this. What did Brooke have to feel embarrassed about? I was never embarrassed, myself, so it was difficult for me to guess.

“I want to give you another chance. I want you not to have a felony conviction on your record. Did you know that stealing”—she actually reddened when she said the word “stealing,”
as if it were an obscenity—“anything over a thousand dollars is a felony? It's grand larceny. I looked it up.” She regarded me with a long sorrowful gaze, as though I had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Well, of course I knew it was a felony. People get
mad
when you take their money away from them. The more money you take, the madder they get.

“Why is that embarrassing?” I asked.

You
may say, “Why should you care, Morgan, so long as she
does
give you another chance?” But I, too, wanted to understand. The more I understood about people like Brooke, the better prepared I would be in the future, assuming I ever ran into a weirdo like her again.

She blushed again and avoided my eye. “Oh, I don't know. It's like I'm setting myself up as judge and jury over you. I don't want you to think that I believe
I'm
perfect. Because I'm
not
,” she said earnestly, as though I'd been arguing with her.

“I see,” I lied. I did
not
see. She found herself in a position where her trust, and the trust of her family, had been violated. A guest in her home had lied, cheated, and stolen from her. She had done nothing wrong, but she felt embarrassed that
I
might be under the impression that she thought that
she
was perfect.

Furthermore, I had told her right to her face—well, okay, to the other side of a basement door—that I was one of the cold. I suppose she didn't understand what I
meant by it. Besides, I think she needed to believe that, deep down, everyone is just like her.

Mentally I threw my hands up into the air in defeat. I would never understand Brooke.

But now what? What was the best way for me to behave at the moment?

I sighed. It was probably time for me to imitate pathetic Francea and blub about how sorry I was and how I would never do it again. But I did have to be careful. Brooke wasn't stupid. Or, yeah, sure, she was about some things, but not about everything.

The strange thing was, even though Janelle was a complete dodo, she was smarter in some ways than Brooke. Janelle knew me for what I was.

“Thank you, Brooke,” I said, my eyes lowered. That seemed safe enough. Should I pretend not to know about the felony thing? No, better not.

“I got—I know I got crazy there,” I said. “It was just—I don't know if you'll understand—but it was so
easy
.” As I've said, when I lie, I tell as much truth as I can. And maybe I
did
get a little crazy. For
sure
it had been easy.

Brooke nodded sagely. “I guess your family—they're, well, they're not super well-off, are they? I mean—” She scrambled to retract this possible criticism. “Of course they're not
poor
, or anything . . .”

“Compared with the Styles family, they are,” I said. Again, nothing but the truth.

“Yes, and I could see that you liked nice things. It's easy for me. I could pretty much have anything I wanted, so far as clothes and stuff goes, but I'm not interested. I can understand that that might be kind of annoying.”

Yep, very true. I said nothing, but stared at my hands in my lap.

“And it's obvious that you are incredibly smart and talented. It seems so awful to have your potential blighted that way. Mom and Dad and Grandma feel that way too. Well . . .” She paused, doubtful for a moment. “Daddy not quite so much, I guess. For some reason Daddy is madder than the rest of us. It's odd, because usually he's not—well, not sensitive that way, like Mom and I are.”

Ha. I hid a smile. I knew why Uncle Karl was so ticked off. Not only was I walking off with the lion's share of his poker money, but the rest of it had been inadvertently donated to various charities.

“Oh! And um . . . and this is really embarrassing, but I kind of have to ask . . .”

Now
what was embarrassing Brooke?

“Did you, uh, find a super-big diamond ring in Mrs. Barnes's drawer? Because I assumed it was Mom's, but mom noticed it in with her jewelry and said it wasn't hers. And I'm afraid that Mrs. Barnes thinks the ring getting in with my mother's things had something to do with you, so she's kind of mad too.”

I nodded.

“She—she says that she always kind of wondered about you. I feel terrible that it never occurred to me that it might be her ring. Well, I'm sorry I screwed up. I don't pay much attention to jewelry.”

I was about to say “That's all right” but realized in time that it wouldn't be appropriate.

It was funny. Aunt Antonia might have been expected, given her job, to have guessed what I was, yet even with her inside knowledge she hadn't spotted me. But it turned out that Mrs. Barnes, a cook and housekeeper, had been keeping a wary eye on me. A sudden image of a little blue car running a red light as I drove away in Uncle Karl's Corvette flashed across my mind. I suppose she'd spotted me behind the wheel and wanted to know what was up. Well, well, what a cunning creature Mrs. Barnes was turning out to be!

Some response was required. “Thank you for everything, Brooke. I'm very grateful,” I said in subdued tones. To a certain extent I actually was. If only she'd minded her own business . . . but no, that was water over the dam or under the bridge or whatever. The fact was that she'd caught me but was letting me off pretty lightly. So yes, I was grateful. Sort of.

“—but whatever you were thinking of, taking photocopies of those papers—stuff from the school, Mom's notes, Daddy's business records, I
don't
know,” Brooke
was saying. Well, of course she didn't know. She didn't have my imagination or my breadth of vision. “What was that about, anyway?”

I looked down again. “Like I said, I got pretty crazy there,” I murmured.

“I guess
so
. They all looked like copies, so I shredded them instead of trying to put them back.”

She took another deep breath.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you. Mom and I talked to the judge who is hearing your case, and we pretty much know what's going to happen next. You'll be released into the custody of your parents—”

Ugh! I made a face.

“Oh, I was afraid of that!” Brooke was all remorse. I was rather touched. How did
she
know what a bore it was going to be for me to wind up back in that miserable little house in LA?

“I
told
Mom that when you said that stuff about your parents—I mean, Janelle's parents—shutting you up in your room and not giving you anything to eat, you were actually talking about your own parents. You were, weren't you?”

Once again I escaped catastrophe. Instead of glomming on to this story and riding it until it was dead, I hesitated. Then I said slowly, “Well . . . I might have exaggerated a little bit. But . . . yeah, basically.”

“I knew it! We told the judge that, and she said there
would be a social worker coming around on a regular basis. So if they do
anything
, you have to promise me you'll tell the social worker. You will, won't you?” She leaned forward anxiously.

“I guess,” I said. Inspired, I added, “But it's hard to turn in your own parents that way.”

“Wow, it must be. But there won't just be the social worker looking out for you. The judge says you'll be subject to, um . . . court-mandated therapy. But see, that's good! It will mean somebody to talk to, somebody who can help you figure your life out and where you want to go from here. Don't you think that will help?”

I was silent for a long moment. Then I raised my eyes to hers.

“You know, I think maybe it will. But you know what would help even more? . . . I hate to ask this but . . .”

“What, Morgan?” she asked gently.

“I know Janelle doesn't want to hear from me ever again, and I don't blame her.” Very wise of her. I wouldn't want to hear from me again either. “But would you mind if I wrote to
you
sometimes? You wouldn't have to answer or anything. It would be nice to think of you being out here, and to remember the time I spent with your family.”

“Oh, Morgan, of course I'll write you back! We'll be e-mail pen pals. You'll see; we won't lose touch at all!”

“Thank you, Brooke,” I said. “That means a lot to me.”

I doubt she noticed until much later the loss of the gold-and-turquoise ring (a gift from the trooper's son, maybe) that I hooked out of her purse. It was really careless of her to just stuff it into her bag loose like that. I suppose she was going to get it resized. When she did notice, she was sure to blame herself, and rightfully so.

The trooper's son had good taste. It was a beautiful ring, and it fit
my
hand perfectly.

I've been back in LA for nearly a month now. It's not as bad as I'd expected. I've grown and learned so much this fall, and people can sense it. They respond to me differently than they did before I went away. I have a lot more confidence and worldly wisdom. The kids at school look at me in a whole new light; I am working my way into the popular crowd since I've returned. And my parents are no problem. They watch me like a pair of mice watching the comings and goings of a large cat. I try to go easy on them, since they
are
providing me with food and shelter, such as it is.

But oh, my dear,
dear
Mrs. Barnes! How I miss you! I
am
sorry you think badly of me. And my horseback
riding lessons and my private bathroom! Oh well. No sense in sighing for lost pleasures. At least I skipped winter in New York, which I hear is the pits.

Brooke and I text and e-mail back and forth quite often. It is harder for me to exercise my magic on her when I am not actually present, and sometimes I get the uneasy sense that she is a bit more aware of my manipulations than I'd believed. But the experience of writing to her is excellent training, as I am becoming more eloquent using the spoken word. Sadly, Brooke is quite intelligent in some ways, so I have to remember to be cautious with her. Still, it is a learning process for me, and good practice.

I plan to send the family a Christmas card, and perhaps another one to Grandma. After a few months I will send an e-mail to Aunt Antonia (note to self: Do not call her “Aunt Antonia” when I write), just to stay in touch. Uncle Karl is going to be the hardest nut to crack, but if I persist, I have no doubt I will eventually prevail. He always admired my spirit. He'll come around in time. A few successful poker games to make back the money he lost, and we'll be friends again. Besides, even though Brooke shredded those pages about his alternate accounting practices, I still know they exist, which could come in handy at some future date.

I am
loving
my therapy sessions! If only I had realized how helpful they would be, I would never have resisted
being sent away to New Beginnings in the first place. I have no doubt that New Beginnings would have had hot-and-cold-running therapy on offer twenty-four hours a day, and I might have found it almost as valuable as my trip to upstate New York. It is
so
useful having someone to teach you about basic human emotions, as well as helping you to develop strategies for getting along with others and making them like you. I am learning a lot.