Peas and Carrots (4 page)

Foster Lady stands and beams at me. I look away. I don't know what she's waiting for. Am I supposed to say thank you or something?

“Do you have any questions for me, Dess?” She just looks too eager, too happy to answer anything.

“Nope.”

Foster Lady says, “Why don't I go check on Hope and Austin and give you a few minutes to yourself? Then we'll talk about the house rules.”

I shrug. I don't need but five minutes to put my stuff in a drawer and find a place to put up my sewing kit. But I'm not going to unpack anything yet. As soon as she gets out of my face, I'm going to check on Baby myself.

“Afterward, I'd like to go over some of what Mrs. Farris told me, and we can talk about your new caseworker—”

“Mom?”

Foster Lady's face lights up. “Oh, good,
Hope,
” she says, and ducks into the bathroom. “Did we wake you? Feeling better?”

“I was just getting up. I'm fine.” The voice is low and sleep-fogged. I shift to where I can see through the bathroom and into the bedroom on the other side. Foster Lady is all bent over, hugging someone.

I step back, throat closing. I'm not ready to meet Foster Lady's “real” kid. I'm not sure how to play this family thing.

I look away, concentrating on rubbing the weird burning feeling in the middle of my chest. I don't get this. If Foster Lady's already got a kid, why's she got Austin and me? Why's she got the sick baby? With this big old house, she doesn't need the money.

“Come and meet your new foster sister,” Foster Lady says.

Oh, here we go.

The girl looks right at me, and her eyes get all wide. She's darker than Foster Lady and shorter, but thick like her, with a crinkly mess of puffy hair in a sloppy bun. She's all baby fat and big cow eyes, which I'm about to slap out of her damn head if she doesn't stop staring at me.

“What are you looking at?” I snarl at the same time that she blurts out, “Um…I'm Hope. Hi.”

“Um, I'm Hope. Hi,” Hope said, trying to rearrange her face to cover her surprise.

So this was Austin's real sister—his birth sister. This girl, with her pale-blue eyes and dragon-lady nails, looked nothing like Austin, whose skin was a sandy brown, whose eyes were a dark hazel, and whose hair was tightly furled golden-brown curls. Hope searched for any trace of resemblance to Austin's sharp-chinned, round-headed adorableness in the single wary eye, ringed hard with liner, that glared out at her from beneath the sweep of stiff, blond bangs. Half siblings could still look alike, but…no, nothing.

“This is Dess Matthews.” Mom looped an arm around Hope again, as if she, too, could feel the instant arc of tension. “Dess, we haven't had foster siblings close to Hope's age in our family before, but it turns out this is especially good timing, since one of Hope's best friends just moved out of the country. You can keep each other company for a few weeks.” She beamed at them, and Hope responded with a tepid smile. Mom was being way too enthusiastic. “Dess loves to read, Hope. You two have that in common.”

Reading? Hope glanced at Dess, at her perfect manicure and skinny jeans.
She likes to read? Probably only
Vogue.
I doubt she's into weredragons or nanobots and dirigibles.

The brief, awkward silence continued as the girl studied Hope as well. Hope's eyes moved from the girl's cold expression to the black plastic garbage bag she was clutching to the pristine white canvas ballet flats on her feet. She hadn't expected Austin's sister to be white and blond—obviously bleached—or that she'd be so much older. Hadn't Mom said they'd be in the same grade? Maybe Dess had been held back, since she
had
to be older than fifteen. She was much taller and seriously built. Maybe she was wearing a padded bra?

Unfriendly eyes. Hope realized, with a twitch and a glance away, that she'd been staring, and now the girl's hostility was almost palpable. As usual, Mom was still talking, pleasant little nothings that both girls were ignoring. Hope felt her heart pinch a little as an expectation she hadn't even known she'd had faded and died. They wouldn't be instant best friends. Austin's sister wouldn't replace Savannah in the hollow space in Hope's heart. No matter what Mom said, they had nothing at all in common.

But Hope knew the drill: she'd been the foster sister to an endless parade of scared, angry, confused little kids, and her job was to be friendly and open. She smiled as her mother reached a pause in her getting-to-know-you spiel. “Nice to meet you. You're from North Highlands, right?”

The girl shrugged, the jerky twitch her only movement, then said, “I'm from West Texas. North Highlands is just where my last placement was.”

“Texas. Oh. Cool.” Hope cleared her throat and smiled, then caught a sidelong glance at herself in the mirror above the sink and cringed. Way to make a first impression—hair rumpled, sheet-creased and shiny-faced, and not wearing a bra. Meeting anyone for the first time, standing in the bathroom, being squeezed to death by your mother?
Awkward.
Worse, Hope could feel a zit coming on right next to her nose. And now Mom was prodding her in the back, so Hope gave another polite smile and tried to find something to say. “Well, it's nice to meet you, Dess,” she repeated lamely. “If you need anything, just knock on my door.”

The girl ignored this and jerked her chin at Hope's mother. “You going to leave Baby in the car all day?”

Baby?
Hope blinked. What baby? Did Dess have one? Or was she talking about Austin?

Hope's mother looked up and smiled, relaxing her grip on Hope's shoulders. “I promise, Austin can get out by himself, but if it makes you feel better, Dess, I'll go and unbelt him now.” She checked her watch. “The little turkey should be just about ready to wake up anyway.” She turned back to Hope. “Keep an eye on Austin for me while Dess and I go pick up Jamaira, please. He's just going to want his snack and his trucks.”

“Okay,” Hope said with a sigh. So much for finishing her nap. Oh, well, Austin was easy, as long as you weren't trying to get him to do anything except what he wanted to do. “Oh, Mom? Aunt uh…Henry said he might swing by after dinner.”

Mom beamed. “Aw, sure he will. Henry's such a softie, checking up on you.”

“No, he's my good auntie who promised me he'd be my ibuprofen hookup if my crazy mother”—Hope dropped her voice, but Dess was walking away—“tried to make me do yoga or something for cramps. I'm serious, Mom. Aromatherapy candles and meditation are
not
a cure for cramps.”

Mom snorted, smoothing a hand over Hope's snarly bedhead. “Okay, let's compromise. How about a little something for the pain
and
this great primrose tea I found? Dess, would you like a cup of…” Her mother paused, then frowned at the empty doorway. “I guess she's gone to get Austin. Hope, come give the boy his snack, please. Maybe some apples and a cheese stick? And make yourself some tea. Odessa—Dess—and I need some time.”

Hope smiled as her father came through the hallway from the garage, loosening his tie and pulling his shirttails out of his slacks. On hearing the door close, Austin barreled out of his room, sliding across the kitchen floor in his socks. “Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, big man!” Mr. Carter gave an exaggerated grunt as Austin threw himself against his legs for the catch-and-release type of hug he preferred. “How was school, Hope?”

Hope tilted her face for his kiss. “Meh.”

Her father yanked his tie over his head and tossed it on the counter. “Just ‘meh,' huh? No strong women? Good-looking men? Nothing above average? Just ‘meh'?”

Hope shrugged. “I didn't really stay long enough to find out.”

Dropping his neoprene lunch bag on the counter, Mr. Carter turned to his daughter with a worried frown. Rolling up the sleeve of his striped blue dress shirt, he put his bare wrist on her forehead. “You sick?”

Hope pulled his arm away and kissed it before wrapping it around herself for a hug. “No, and you know it's scientifically impossible to tell if someone has a fever by putting your arm on their head.”

“It worked for your grandma,” her father said, and looped his other arm around her. “What happened, sweet?”

“Just the usual school stuff plus…clothing malfunction. Woman stuff.”

“Woman stuff? Eww.” Her father peered into her face with a teasing smile. “You're on your own with that, babe.”

“Thank you at least for not saying ‘Oh, honey,' like Mom kept doing.” Hope held out her hand for his change as he emptied his pockets and then began unbuttoning his shirt. “I'm surprised she didn't text you to pick me up. I could have used a lift.”

“She might have, but she knew I had meetings. Sorry, but I was completely useless all day long,” her father said, unbuckling his belt and tugging it from the loops on his slacks as he padded down the hall. “I hate meetings.”

Hope trailed after him, as was her ritual, pocketing the change he'd given her while he disappeared into his bedroom, shedding work clothes as he went. He emerged a few moments later in a pair of ratty jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt with the logo of a software company in orange and blue centered on the back. “Much better,” he declared. “What's the news from Hong Kong? How's our old friend Savannah?”

“Fine, I guess. The prefect introduced her to everyone in assembly today, and it was eighty-four and she couldn't take off her blazer, because it's part of the uniform.”

He shuddered. “Sounds horrible. Poor kid. You meet Odessa yet?”

“Yeah, I met her. I wonder if she and Austin are named after towns in Texas on purpose.” Hope shook her head in disbelief. “Mom called her Dess, though.”

“Hey, Austin,” Dad said, poking his head into the land of trucks and trains. “You have Hope and Maira and now another sister, buddy. How about that?”

“Defsa's with Mama,” Austin said, and smashed his truck into a pile of blocks.

“De
ss
a,” Dad corrected him, coming down hard on the “s” sound. “They should be back soon,” he said, and headed for the kitchen. “Is it too hot to eat out back?”

“Nah,” Hope said, falling into her role as sous-chef. “I'm starving.”

They were halfway through dinner prep when Mom came home. She carried her diaper bag on one arm and swung Jamaira in her car seat up onto the counter with the other. Dad gave Mom his usual greeting—“Hey, beautiful!” and a quick hug and a kiss—and leaned over the car seat.

“There's my baby princess,” he singsonged, and Jamaira, half-asleep, smiled sweetly at his voice. Hope, as always, felt her heart twist at Maira's smile. Her attention, however, was on the doorway behind her mother as Dess slouched in, fists clutching the sleeves of her hoodie, arms crossed.

“Russell, this is Dessa Matthews,” Mom said.

Dad looked up and smiled. “Hello, nice to have you. I understand the name Odessa possibly comes from the Greek word
odysseia,
from which we gain the word ‘odyssey,' which is a long and eventful journey. Have you had one of those today?”

Oh, Dad.
Hope hunched her shoulders. She tried to see her father through Dess's eyes—and winced. Dark, thin, and wiry, three inches shorter than Mom, with close-shaved hair and a graying goatee, Dad was wrapped in an apron that said “Just a Man with a Pan.” Now he was spouting crap that made him sound like some super-nerd on college
Jeopardy!
Dess probably thought he sounded stupid. Sometimes some of the older foster kids were hostile toward Dad. Mom said they didn't trust men. Hope found her fingers tensing on her knife handle, wondering how Dess would react.

After staring for a long moment, Dess spoke. “You play that word app thing on your phone, huh?”

Her father's brows rose in surprised delight. “Dictionary Duel? As a matter of fact, I do like word games,” he admitted. “Are you a wordsmith?”

Dess didn't smile back. “Maybe,” she said guardedly.

“Well, plenty of time to find out. Welcome home, Dess. Are you hungry?”

Dess flicked a glance over the dinner preparations. “Uh…”

Mom piped up. “You're free to eat anything you'd like tonight and skip things that look a little unfamiliar. Normally, I'd ask that you at least try everything, but since it's your first night—”

“It's fine. Whatever. I'll eat,” Dess said, cutting her off. She pointed. “What's that with the green stuff?”

Dad tilted his chin upward. “That's the quinoa salad—q-u-i-n-o-a. It's a South American grain. The ‘green stuff' is avocado. There are oranges in there, too.”

“Oh.” Dess looked briefly ill, but only Hope noticed. Mom was responding to Jamaira's thin cry, and Dad, who had washed his hands, was collecting plates and glasses to go and set the table.

“I'm hungry,” Austin whined. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen.

Hope rolled her eyes. He knew the drill—no toys at the table, wash your hands, and sit down—but since Mom was picking up Jamaira and Dess was standing there, looking lost, he was starting to act out. “Out of the way, Austin. If you stand in the middle of the floor being hungry, you might get run over before dinner. Go wash—”

The blond girl whirled to face Hope with narrowed eyes. “Hey, back off.
I
take care of Baby,” she said, voice low and razor-sharp.

“Um, excuse me?” Hope looked toward her mother. Was she not supposed to even
talk
to Austin now that his “real” sister was here?

Jeez, his “real” sister. What the hell did that make Hope?

Mom winced and opened her mouth, but Austin broke in loudly. “I'm
not
a baby,” he announced.

Dess looked as if she'd bitten something sour. She glowered at him. “Yeah, you are, kid. You're only three.”