Speechless(89)

                Not to mention, I could use the money. I just threw out most of                     the contents of my closet, and I’m pretty sure Mom will be in no hurry to fund                     an impulsive overhaul of my wardrobe.

                I smile slowly at Dex and nod, and Asha’s and Sam’s returning                     smiles don’t escape my notice. Neither does the way Andy immediately walks out                     of the room.

                “Okay then,” Dex says, and I guess that’s all there is to                     it.

                I’m part of the team.

                * * *

                When I walk through the front door, I drop my messenger                     bag right there in the foyer, too tired to carry it any farther. I smell like                     dish soap and the grilled cheese sandwiches Sam made for me and Asha before I                     took her home (“A congratulatory gesture for your new employment,” he explained                     to me with one of his tilted smiles, and seriously, what is with the sudden                     somersaults my stomach does whenever that happens?).

                I want a shower. I want a nap. Maybe a nap in the shower. But before that I want something to drink, so I head                     into the kitchen, and I have the refrigerator door halfway open before I realize                     Mom and Dad are seated at the table.

                Whatever they’re discussing, it’s bad. I know it before either                     of them say a single word. For one, they always break bad news to me in the                     kitchen; like when I was nine and our old cat Whiskers was put down, and I came                     home from school to find Dad waiting in here with a glass of chocolate milk, or                     when Grandpa Murphy had a heart attack last year and Mom started crying over the                     sink as she told me.

                Second, they always have the same look on their faces. Thinly                     veiled panic.

                I shut the refrigerator and lean against it, unscrewing the top                     of my bottled water. They both stare at me. Do they expect me to say something?                     Did they forget already? Maybe they did, because after a minute Dad clears his                     throat, an awkward and delayed conversation starter.

                “Hey, sweetness, why don’t you sit down for a minute?” he says                     without looking at me.

                I obediently pull back a chair and sit at the table, watching                     them carefully. I wonder who died this time.