face of such sweetness, Annabel backed away from the subject of the tag sale, asking both girls about school. But when she glanced at Carley, her eyes were dark as thunder.
9
• • • • •
M onday, as soon as the girls were off to school, Carley climbed the narrow stairs and opened the door to the attic. She could tell, instantly, that something had changed. Things had been moved around. There was a very slight smell … of tobacco? She shook her head. Couldn’t be.
Still, she closed her eyes and let her nose lead her. Past the drop-leaf table with the broken leg. Past the cardboard wardrobes of clothing old enough to be called vintage. Past one of the boudoir chairs … There. In the corner was a kind of nest. Cushions and pillows were piled around Cisco’s CD player and a pile of CDs.
Carley smiled. Cisco and her friend had been up here in their own private aerie, listening to music, discussing life, love, and boys. Cisco had a new friend these days, a sloe-eyed girl called Polo who had just moved to the island. Polo was shy, but polite. She didn’t seem to talk much, but Carley had heard her and Cisco giggling, and that gave Carley great hope that when Cisco finally realized she was not going to be a ballerina, she wouldn’t be devastated. Polo had no interest in ballet.
So, good. Carley liked that about the house, how it provided hiding spots and private nooks for conversation.
She turned to search out the other boudoir chair, and her foot hit something. She looked down.
There on the wide old floorboards was an object of heavy glass, so wrong here in this place that for a moment her mind wouldn’t make sense of it. Then she did make sense of it.
A glass ashtray. Full of cigarette butts.
Suddenly she was so angry she could have slammed her fist into the wall.
She and Gus had warned and
warned
the girls about the connection between smoking and cancer. They watched
Thank You for Smoking
together on a DVD. Cisco knew better than to smoke!
And to smoke up here in the attic! She might as well light matches in the middle of a haystack. All this old dry stuff, newspapers, books, photo albums, hats with feathers …
“Cisco, you
idiot
!” Her hands shook as she bent down to pick up the ashtray. She wanted to throw it hard against the wall. Instead, she carried it down to the kitchen and plunked it in the middle of the table: Exhibit A. When Cisco got home from school, Carley would have the evidence ready. She needed to decide on a suitable punishment. It really was a serious offense, smoking in the attic! How could Cisco, usually so intelligent, do something so stupid?
The smoking wasn’t so very awful, Carley decided as she paced the room. All kids tried it sooner or later. It was almost a rite of passage. But to smoke in the attic! She didn’t want Annabel or Russ to find out about this. As much as they adored their granddaughter, they were emotionally, symbolically, personally attached to their houses. They would freak out.
She couldn’t focus on the tag sale now. She was too upset. She concentrated her energy on routine tasks: laundry, vacuuming, mopping the kitchen floor. She could do all this without thinking, which allowed her mind to rampage around the problem. She needed to find the right way to react to this. It had been a long time since she’d had a real confrontation with Cisco. She could tell that her older daughter was changing—her period had started just last month, and she was beginning to develop breasts, which had Cisconearly ill with embarrassment. Carley wanted to handle this just right.
“Hi, Mom!” Cisco banged in through the back door as she always did, dropping her backpack on a kitchen chair and heading directly for the refrigerator. Another issue—diet soda—was an ongoing problem for Carley, who didn’t want to buy the empty calories for her children, but who felt sympathy for Cisco, who begged and pleaded for them. They’d compromised. Cisco could have one a
9
• • • • •
M onday, as soon as the girls were off to school, Carley climbed the narrow stairs and opened the door to the attic. She could tell, instantly, that something had changed. Things had been moved around. There was a very slight smell … of tobacco? She shook her head. Couldn’t be.
Still, she closed her eyes and let her nose lead her. Past the drop-leaf table with the broken leg. Past the cardboard wardrobes of clothing old enough to be called vintage. Past one of the boudoir chairs … There. In the corner was a kind of nest. Cushions and pillows were piled around Cisco’s CD player and a pile of CDs.
Carley smiled. Cisco and her friend had been up here in their own private aerie, listening to music, discussing life, love, and boys. Cisco had a new friend these days, a sloe-eyed girl called Polo who had just moved to the island. Polo was shy, but polite. She didn’t seem to talk much, but Carley had heard her and Cisco giggling, and that gave Carley great hope that when Cisco finally realized she was not going to be a ballerina, she wouldn’t be devastated. Polo had no interest in ballet.
So, good. Carley liked that about the house, how it provided hiding spots and private nooks for conversation.
She turned to search out the other boudoir chair, and her foot hit something. She looked down.
There on the wide old floorboards was an object of heavy glass, so wrong here in this place that for a moment her mind wouldn’t make sense of it. Then she did make sense of it.
A glass ashtray. Full of cigarette butts.
Suddenly she was so angry she could have slammed her fist into the wall.
She and Gus had warned and
warned
the girls about the connection between smoking and cancer. They watched
Thank You for Smoking
together on a DVD. Cisco knew better than to smoke!
And to smoke up here in the attic! She might as well light matches in the middle of a haystack. All this old dry stuff, newspapers, books, photo albums, hats with feathers …
“Cisco, you
idiot
!” Her hands shook as she bent down to pick up the ashtray. She wanted to throw it hard against the wall. Instead, she carried it down to the kitchen and plunked it in the middle of the table: Exhibit A. When Cisco got home from school, Carley would have the evidence ready. She needed to decide on a suitable punishment. It really was a serious offense, smoking in the attic! How could Cisco, usually so intelligent, do something so stupid?
The smoking wasn’t so very awful, Carley decided as she paced the room. All kids tried it sooner or later. It was almost a rite of passage. But to smoke in the attic! She didn’t want Annabel or Russ to find out about this. As much as they adored their granddaughter, they were emotionally, symbolically, personally attached to their houses. They would freak out.
She couldn’t focus on the tag sale now. She was too upset. She concentrated her energy on routine tasks: laundry, vacuuming, mopping the kitchen floor. She could do all this without thinking, which allowed her mind to rampage around the problem. She needed to find the right way to react to this. It had been a long time since she’d had a real confrontation with Cisco. She could tell that her older daughter was changing—her period had started just last month, and she was beginning to develop breasts, which had Cisconearly ill with embarrassment. Carley wanted to handle this just right.
“Hi, Mom!” Cisco banged in through the back door as she always did, dropping her backpack on a kitchen chair and heading directly for the refrigerator. Another issue—diet soda—was an ongoing problem for Carley, who didn’t want to buy the empty calories for her children, but who felt sympathy for Cisco, who begged and pleaded for them. They’d compromised. Cisco could have one a
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