Ro grabbed his arm. “Just give me a few minutes, okay?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Please? I love you.” He refused to look at her. “Really. I do love you. Really and truly.” When he still didn’t answer, she pleaded, “Say something!”
“I’m tired, Ro.” He gently extricated his arm from her grip. “Please . . . be considerate, okay?”
“Then I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not. Stop trying to bully me.”
She sighed. “Okay. You’re right. Can we talk in the morning?”
“Fine. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“What time in the morning?”
“I don’t know, Dorothy. Let me go to sleep first.”
“What time do you usually wake up?”
His eyes were heavy. “Around seven.”
“So how about six? I’ll wake you up.”
“Fine. Good night.”
But for her, it was anything but. The weather grew colder and louder. The winds were furious and some kind of tree kept banging against the window, waking her up at ten-minute intervals. Plus, the bed smelled of him. It made her weepy every time she was startled awake. Then the pillowcase got all wet. She finally gave up and turned on the light. It was around two a.m.
She’d have to deliver the best eat-shit speech of her life to pull this off because she certainly wasn’t going to make it on looks. There were deep bags under her eyes and her complexion was a gluey mess that even makeup wasn’t going to hide. She looked in his closet for something warm to put over the sweats. She found a terry robe, put it on, and glanced around the room, which was as spare as a monk’s cell.
There was a bed, a desk, a desk chair and chest of drawers, and a file cabinet that was locked. That was probably where he kept his case notes about Ellen. Atop his desk were two framed pictures—one of Haley and one of Ellen. Once there had been four framed pictures; along with Ben’s sisters, there had been one of the two of them and one of Ro alone looking gorgeous.
She picked up Ellen’s photo.
Definitely the other girl in the relationship.
She put it down and very quietly began to search the drawers for the missing pictures.
Ben was compulsively neat. The top drawer was underwear and socks; middle one was T-shirts and jeans. The bottom drawer was empty except for two picture frames sans photos. She closed the drawer softly with a pretty good intuition about where the missing pictures were.
The top layer of the trash can was filled with papers scrawled with indecipherable equations. There were also tissues and what looked like Ben’s discarded breakfast—a paper cup with coffee still in it, a breakfast bar wrapping, and orange peels.
Ro waded through the junk until she got to the bottom, where she extracted the photo of the two of them with an orange peel stuck on it. She removed the rind, and stared at the picture. It was taken at the Berkeley campus. They looked so happy—they had been happy—and that brought about a new batch of tears. She stowed that one in her purse. She left the solo picture of herself—completely intact—underneath the garbage.
Apparently, she hadn’t even inspired enough emotion in him to be ripped to shreds.
When her cell phone’s alarm went off at five thirty, Ro felt like death warmed over. Shivering, she dressed as quickly as she could, as much for warmth as for anything else. Tiptoeing into the darkened hallway, she didn’t hear a sound except some very loud snoring. Ben didn’t snore, so it was probably his grandfather. She waited in the living room for him to get up. By six, the house began to stir. His grandmother found her sitting on the couch like an abandoned puppy. Pauline acted the cheerful doddering old lady, but her sharp eyes knew the score. She lit the fireplace and offered Ro breakfast—coffee and orange juice—while she waited for Ben. Running out of options, Ro finally addressed the gorilla in the living room.
“Do you know when Ben gets up?”
Pauline said, “He’s usually up by now. Where did he sleep?”
Ro shrugged. “I don’t know. I took his room.”
Pauline went down the hallway and opened a few doors. Then she went outside. Then she came back for the report. “His car is gone. He must have left for school.”
It was quarter to seven. Since Ro hadn’t heard him get up, she surmised he left very early to avoid her. She felt her face go hot. “Okay.” His grandmother was trying not to look at her with pity. It embarrassed both of them. Ro offered her finest phony smile. “Um . . . I should be heading back as well.”
“They haven’t plowed the roads yet.”
“I’ve a four-wheel drive. I’m assuming the highway is okay.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay a little longer?”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” Ro hugged the old woman good-bye—trying not to cry—and made a quick exit. Outside, the air was frigid, the sky was deep blue, and the landscape was pure white. Her car was covered in snow, as were all the neighbors’ cars. But unlike the other cars, her windshield had been scraped and cleared. She hated that he had done something nice for her. It made her feel even lower, if that were possible.
Sitting in her car, trying to calm down, she texted him. You can’t avoid me forever.
Right as she put the car into drive, her phone beeped. She looked at the responding text.
Yes, I can.
Chapter 10
Despite her best efforts, Ro couldn’t find Vicks anywhere in school on Monday. Instead, she found Haley, who was, as always, with Lilly. She asked, “Do you know where your brother is?”
“He’s in Albuquerque,” Haley said. “He’s sick.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t look either little girl in the eye. “We broke up.”
“I know.” Haley’s eyes went cold.
“I would like to talk to him, though. Could you please tell him to call me? I’m a little tired of talking to his voice mail.”
No response.
Ro shifted the books in her hands and then left. Fuck it all. She had been forced to come here. Stop being so self-critical. Have fun. You’re only seventeen once.
Thank God.
As the week dragged on, she became more and more cranky. It was bad enough that Haley was avoiding her, but she was also avoiding Griff, who in turn became pouty and then just downright rude. Ro, usually the social butterfly, was on the outs with everyone. It was foreign territory and the worst part was she hadn’t a clue how to rectify anything.
So she avoided everyone, isolating herself, eating lunch in an empty classroom, trying to pretend she didn’t care about anyone or anything. She stopped wearing makeup and dressed in baggy clothes every day. She did wash her hair, which was about the only thing that distinguished her from a homeless person.
On Thursday, about fifteen minutes before the lunch bell was due to ring, Lilly found her reading a book.
“Can I sit down?”
Ro shrugged but didn’t object.
“Are you back with JD?” she asked her.
“None of your business,” Ro replied coolly.
“Okay.” Lilly gave her a weak smile. “Sorry to bother you.”
Ro regarded the girl’s face. There wasn’t an ounce of malice. “I’m sorry, Lilly. I’m edgy.”