"Exactly."
"Just wait, though," I said. "Someday you'll be in Southern Living, with a picture just like that, talking about the deep true meaning of your work."
"Unlikely," he said. "I don't think they pick people who got their start by being arrested and getting sent to reform school."
"Maybe that could be your angle," I suggested. He made a face at me. "And anyway, what kind of attitude is that?" I asked.
"A realistic one," he told me, shutting the magazine.
"You," I said, poking him, "need a little positivity."
"And you," he said, "need to stop poking me."
I laughed, then heard something behind me and turned around. It was my mother again, standing in the doorway. How long had she been there, I wondered, but one look at the expression on her face—stern, chin set, clearly not happy—answered this question.
"Macy," she said, her voice level, "could you hand me that folder on the counter, please."
I walked over to the counter by the fridge, feeling her watching me. Wes, who couldn't help but pick up on the sudden tension in the air, started toward the living room. As he got close, Kristy moved over in the big chair, making room, and he slid in beside her.
"A reverberation," the announcer was saying from the living room, "that would cause a domino effect among the population, causing people to slowly go insane from the constant, unknown droning."
"You can go crazy from vibrations?" Kristy said.
"Oh, yeah," Bert said. "You can go crazy from anything."
"… a natural phenomenon," the announcer was saying, "or perhaps a tool used by extraterrestrials, who may communicate using sounds beyond our comprehension?"
"Interesting," Delia murmured, rubbing her stomach.
"Mmm-hmm," Monica echoed.
I picked up the folder and brought it to my mother. She stepped out into the darkness of the hallway, giving me a look that meant I should follow.
"Macy," she said, "did I just hear that boy say he's been arrested?"
"It was a long time ago," I said. "And—" "Macy!" Kristy called out. "You're going to miss the mega-hunami!"
"Tsunami," Bert said.
"Whatever," she said. "It's the mega part that matters, anyway."
But I could barely hear this. I was just watching my mother, the way she was staring at them, her judgment so clear on her face. From Delia's chaotic business practices to Kristy's scars to Wes's past, it was clear they were far from flawless.
"He's the boy you were with the other night, correct?" she asked.
"What?" I asked.
She looked at me, her face stern, as if I was talking back, which I wasn't. "The other night," she repeated, enunciating the words, "when I came home and you were outside with someone. In a truck. Was that him?"
"Um," I said, "yeah, I guess it was. He just gave me a ride." And here I'd thought she'd hardly noticed us. But now, as I watched her looking at Wes, I knew this was one more thing she would hold against me. "It's not what you think. He's a nice guy, Mom."
"When the show is over," she said, as if I hadn't even said this, "they leave. Understood?"
I nodded, and she stuck the folder under her arm as I headed back through the kitchen, toward the living room. I was almost there when I heard her call after me.
"I forgot to tell you," she said, her voice loud and clear. "Jason called. He's going to be in town for the weekend."
"He did?" I said. "He is?"
"His grandmother's taken ill, apparently," she said. "So he's coming down for the weekend. He said to tell you he gets in around noon, and he'll see you at the library."
I just stood there, trying to process this information, as she turned and headed back to her office. Jason was coming home. And of course my mother had felt it necessary to announce this out loud, in front of everyone—especially Wes—while so much of our other business had been conducted in private. She'd told me she wanted me back on track: this was one way of nudging me there.
When I walked into the living room, the announcer on the TV was talking about the mega-tsunami, describing in detail how all it would take was one volcano blowing to set off the chain reaction of events that would end with that big wave crashing over our extended coastline. What other proof, I thought, did you need that life was short. That volcano could already be rumbling, magma bubbling up, pressure building to an inevitable, irrevocable burst.