But then River stopped hanging out with us and now I knew why.
I grabbed the envelope that held my Patient Care Volunteer assignment from the UCSC Medical Center and tucked it into my backpack, then headed downstairs.
My parents were having breakfast in the spacious, sunlit kitchen, sitting as far apart from each other as possible—Dad at the gray marble counter, sipping coffee and reading the paper. Mom at the table, spreading jelly on a slice of wheat toast.
No fighting. No tension. Yet. I felt like I was in one of those movies where the spy has to cross a room without tripping the red lasers that crisscrossed all over. I had to move carefully, slowly, not to set them off.
“Morning,” I said brightl
y.
Mom didn’t look up from her toast. “Good morning, honey.”
“Morning, pumpkin,” Dad said with a tired smile.
Shiloh liked to say the universe took my parents’ best features and gave them to me. I got Mom’s thick, almost black hair and Dad’s dark blue eyes. After that, I looked nothing like them. Mom was tall, slender, with pale blue eyes, while Dad was sandy-haired and stockier.
“Are you excited for your first day of senior year?” Dad asked.
“Definitely. I’m going to be pretty busy, what with soccer, debate, and now this.” I sat next to Mom and pulled out my Patient Care Volunteer acceptance letter and placed it on the table.
“You got in?” Mom beamed and reached to give my arm a squeeze. “I knew you would.”
Dad brought his coffee over and pecked me on the top of the head. “Proud of you, pumpkin.” He sat down so that I was between him and Mom. “And do you know who your assignment is?”
“Is it that Miller?” Mom said, focusing on her toast and being careful to keep her tone casual.
Four years later and my best friend was still that Miller to her: the boy who’d lived in a car and nearly died in her backyard.
“No, not Miller,” I said tightly, clinging to my smile. “Nancy Whitmore.”
Glances were exchanged between my parents.
Dad shifted in his chair. “I visited the Whitmore Auto Body last week.”
“I know. It’s cancer, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so. Liver cancer. And it doesn’t look good.”
“She’s terminal,” Mom cut in, her voice stiff. “Let’s be honest with Violet, for a change.”
Dad’s lips made a thin line, but he turned to me. “You going to be okay with that, sweetheart?”
“I’m going to be a doctor. Like I told Miller, the hard stuff is part of the deal.”
Mom set down her toast. “You told Miller before you told us? When? Last night?”
“Lynn…”
“Yes,” I said. “Last night.”
Before you burst into my room like a pair of crazy people.
“I can’t understand why he’s still climbing up my trellis,” Mom said, fuming. “If you’re not trying to hide him, Violet, then he can come through the front door like everyone else.”
“Lynn, we’ve been through this,” Dad said. “They’re friends. That’s how they do things. Right, pumpkin?”
“Yes,” I said, not adding that the few times I’d had Miller come to the front door, Mom and Dad had either been in a rage or a cold front. Humiliating for me and awkward for him.