“Ginny, it’s going—”
“Don’t talk to me ever again. I hate you.”
She did look in the rearview mirror as he drove away to the sounds of her brothers’ yells following.
Numbly, she stared out the window as the trees passed outside, burying the echoing sound of their childish voices deep in her memory. Like she had the sound of her dad’s and Leah’s laughter. Like she had the sound of Trudy’s voice before the plane had crashed.
When the car stopped, she looked out at the house the sheriff parked in front of.
“This is it. Your new home.”
Unbuckling the seatbelt, Ginny opened the door, then took her bag. She got out as the sheriff came around the front of the car.
Slamming the door, she didn’t look back at the car, or at the shiny cell phone she left behind.
Chapter Twelve
Staring at the bare pink wall, Ginny sat cross-legged on her bed, listening to music as she did her homework. One thing was sure, she wasn’t going to college. She hated school. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do the work, but she definitely wasn’t the brightest bulb in her class.
Nibbling on her lip, she looked at the jumble of numbers that she couldn’t make any sense of, despite using formulas the teacher had taught them to use.
Brushing a wisp of her brown hair back, she was about to work on the problem again when her bedroom door was opened.
Veiling her eyes with her lashes, she hid the dislike she felt for her foster mother.
“Dinner’s ready.”
Ginny wasn’t fooled by the plastic smile the woman gave her. Lisa West was beautiful, had a handsome husband, and lived in a gorgeous home, but there was something missing from the woman and Ginny couldn’t figure out what it was.
As angry as she was the first day, she had been polite when the sheriff introduced her to Lisa and Dalt West. Their smiles had blinded her at first, because they had been so friendly. Lisa had even placed a motherly arm around her as she led her up the stairs to her new bedroom. It had been so long since she experienced a mother’s touch that the simple gesture nearly had her breaking down in tears.
The bedroom that Lisa guided her into was three times the size of the one she left behind. Decorated in pale pink and white, it had a huge bed with a canopy hanging down from overhead, the white filmy curtain twining around the four bedposts. It was a fairy tale bedroom that little girls dreamed about.
Ginny hated it.
The room was picture-perfect. In a magazine, it would get oohs and ahhs, but to live in it was painful.
“Take your shoes off. I don’t want the carpet to get dirty. From now on, when you come inside the house, place your shoes under the entry table.” The motherly tone she had greeted her with was gone.
Briskly walking across the room, her heels sunk into the snow-white carpet as she opened the closest. “You can hang your clothes inside.” Flashes of light hit the diamond ring on her hand as she waved toward a bureau on the opposite side of the room. “You can use that for things you don’t want to put on a hanger.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She winced, folding her arms over her chest. “Call me Mrs. West or Lisa. I don’t care for ma’am.”
“Yes, m—Mrs. West.” Ginny gripped the knot in the trash bag harder at the critical way the woman stared at her.
“I don’t like clutter, so keep your room clean. There’s a basket in the bathroom for your dirty clothes, and in the morning, I’ll show you how I like the bed made.”
Ginny couldn’t talk around the lump in her throat that was forming, so she gave a nod, understanding what was expected of her.
“Dinner will be in ten minutes. Get washed up and come downstairs.” Lisa elegantly walked back to the doorway, pausing before leaving and giving her a stony glance. “One other thing, this is your room. Except the dining room for meals, you are not allowed in any other rooms, even the bathroom. You have your own, so there’s no need to use the guest’s. Do I make myself clear?”
Ginny finally found her voice. “Yes, Mrs. West.”
“Ten minutes,” she reminded her. “The sheriff will be staying for dinner. He wants to make sure that you’re comfortable and settled before he leaves.” Her voice got even colder. “I wouldn’t want him to take more time than he needs to assure himself you are. The sheriff is a busy man and has more important matters to contend with than catering to a twelve-year-old. Do you understand?”
She did. If she wasn’t so angry with the sheriff at making her leave her family, she would carry her trash bag down the stairs and beg him to take her anywhere but here.