The Secret Sister M. DeLuca (read 50 shades of grey .txt) 📖

tired old man. “You know I’m on the way out here and I harbored a faint hope that you’d take over when I left. I’ve always admired your firm, unsentimental approach to the kids. You never patronize them.”

I studied the worn parquet flooring and the faded Persian rug, a relic from his pilgrimage to Marrakesh in the sixties. “I try not to.”

“It seems as if you know them so well, which makes me wonder about you.” He sipped his coffee and grimaced.

“I guess I won’t miss that vile brew we call coffee,” I said, but my poor attempt at humor didn’t deflect him.

“Anna, I don’t know much about your past, and I don’t want to pry, but I could swear I detect some deep wounds there. I’ve worked for many years with troubled kids and I can sense hidden pain. If you ever want to talk, I’m always here.”

That was my cue to leave. I could already feel him digging into my head, lifting the lid from my secret store of memories so he could peer inside. No way would I let that happen. That stuff was private. Guy didn’t even know about it. About Birdie. I stood up and searched my lexicon of niceties.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Robin. I’ve loved working here. I’ll miss you all and I’ll never forget the things you taught me.” All I could think of was how Gord would’ve been proud of the trite sentiments oozing from my lips.

Taken aback, he realized the moment of revelation was over. “Of course, Anna. Goes without saying and I’ll be happy to provide an exemplary reference should you need it.”

I backed out of his office muttering thank you and was almost clear when he stood up abruptly. His somber face lit up.

“Wait. Before I forget, I must thank you. Bringing Guy in for that in-service in February was a brilliant idea. For you and for us.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Come again?”

“You recommended him.” His brows knit. “You told me you’d read some papers he’d written on education for homeless kids. Gave him a glowing reference. How could I say no when you were so persuasive? And now look. You’re married to him.”

I struggled to focus. The features of Robin’s face became blurred and fuzzy. The springs on the wall clock behind me whirred and clicked. “It must’ve slipped my mind,” I said, feeling my throat seize up. “I’ve been so busy with other things. Married life, you know.”

“I’m sure you have,” he said, attempting a grotesque wink. “After Guy’s inspiring presentation I put in a proposal to the board and we’re receiving extra funding for our street kids’ outreach program.”

“Good news,” I said, trying to breathe deeply, to focus on Robin’s moving lips and make sense of something I’d tried to shove to the back of my mind.

He sighed and knitted his fingers, resting his hands on his faded denim lap. “An old dog like me would call it romantic. Destiny. You two were meant to be together. You couldn’t have planned it better, Anna.”

“But I didn’t,” I said more firmly. “It just happened.”

“Of course. I’m not accusing you of anything, Anna. I’m just kidding. Lighten up, luvvy.”

Somehow, I got to my classroom, though the floor seemed to tilt under my feet. I thought he’d forgotten my little note about Guy, hastily shoved under his door. Just a casual hint – a nudge in the right direction.

Luckily, the kids had left for the afternoon, so I was alone. Nobody there to witness me fall into my chair and sweep the books and pencils aside to make space for my aching head. To collect myself.

To focus.

To think about Birdie and what happened at Patti and Lester Flatt’s after the incident at the mall.

To picture her wounded gaze when she watched me clutch at my swollen eye. To remember how her nose was dribbling from the after-effects of glue sniffing.

Patti and Lester perched like two stone gargoyles on the plaid couch while Birdie and I stood in front of them trembling. A storm threatened outside the window, lighting the leaden skies with flashes of white sheet lightning. Sweat dribbled down my back underneath my sweatshirt and I felt giddy – lightheaded as I struggled not to breathe in the putrid mix of sweat and rancid bacon fat.

“You gave your sister a freakin’ black eye?” Lester stared right at Birdie. He’d been toking on Patti’s medicinal weed, so his eyes looked big and unfocused. He nudged Patti and giggled. “She goddamn knocked her own sister out. Can you beat that?”

Birdie shook her head. She was wearing a ripped gray T-shirt that had once been white. Her thin arms stuck out, her hands twisting the T-shirt hem into a ball. “I didn’t do it. Loni did.”

Lester’s face turned purple. “Curb your wicked tongue, kid. You let your friend beat up your sister? That’s worse. That’s a coward’s way out.” He turned his eyes on me. “Is it true? Did she let them hit you?”

A small fist of anger bruised my heart. The more beaten she looked, the more I wanted to hurt her. Crush her like a paper doll. I nodded. “Yeah,” I whispered, feeling a rush of vengeance so strong I had to bite my lip to stay quiet.

Patti held her arms out to me, her face fixed in a weird, twisted grin. “Looks like that eye hurts, baby. Come sit down next to Momma and I’ll take the pain away.”

I stood, rooted to the spot. She beckoned again. “Come, come, baby. Patti’s not gonna hurt you.”

Her voice was soft so I edged forward until she grabbed my hands and yanked me down onto the couch. I’d never been that close to her. She smelled like dried armpit sweat and skunk weed. I shuffled away to the other end of the couch.

“Don’t be scared now. Get comfy,” she said, patting the spot right beside her. “I’m gonna make you feel good and take the pain away.