In the Blood Read Online Free Page B

the grooves of manipulation dug so deep, so twisted around each other. Sometimes, not always, troubled kids were more relaxed in an environment that wasn’t controlled by their whims and tempers.
    “So maybe I should meet Luke and see if we can get along at all?” I said.
    She looked up from her teacup, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Okay?” she said. “Yes. That would be great. Maybe you’d like to come back for dinner?”
    “I could do that,” I said.
    “Or,” she said, looking around, “I could pay you for the afternoon and you could help me with some unpacking. And you’ll be here when he gets home in a couple of hours. Are you free?”
    I didn’t wonder if she’d interviewed anyone else, or why she didn’t seem to have checked my single reference. To be honest, I just liked her. I sensed she needed someone, and I wanted to be that person. I couldn’t have told you why. These things are so complicated, every decision underpinned by reasons conscious and subconscious. What we think of as our “gut instincts” are really a very complex mosaic of past experiences, deep-seated hopes, fears, desires. But that feeling, a kind of giddy, hopeful yes!, came from deep inside. I wouldn’t have thought that I wanted or needed anything as badly as I must have to so enthusiastically sign on for the jobs ofunpacking boxes and caring for a disturbed child. But there I was.
    So, we passed the afternoon, chatting and unpacking, shelving books and unwrapping glasses. I skirted questions about my family in a way that had become second nature to me, offering vague half answers. Most people don’t press early on.
    Where’s your family from? she asked casually.
    South Florida, I answered.
    Do you see them often? She wanted to know, clearly just making conversation. Well, I was just home for Christmas. You mentioned your family was still in the city? I tossed back.
    It wasn’t lost on me that she changed the subject just as quickly when the focus shifted to her family. The relationships were strained, she’d said. No one ever really wanted to talk about that. But then we fell into an easy rapport, chatting about school, my suite mates, her years at NYU, how we both hated Hemingway and distrusted people who lauded his work, were fools for The Sound of Music (the hills are alive!). There was a definite love connection. She reminded me of someone. But I wouldn’t have been able to tell you who, not then.
    We were laughing at something, I don’t remember what now, when we heard the front door. Her smile quickly faded and a tension settled into her shoulders. She moved away from me quickly.
    “I’m home,” came a voice down the hall. “Mom? I’m hungry.”
    “One of the other mothers picked him up today. We carpool,” she whispered. She looked guilty, as if she’d done something wrong and was hoping I’d cover for her. “I lost track of time.”
    “In the kitchen, Luke,” she called. “I want you to meet someone.”
    There was a pause, where she turned to me and offered a tight smile. Then I heard slow, careful steps approach. I don’t knowwhat I was expecting, but certainly not the slim, handsome boy who stepped into the room. He was her younger, male double, the same creamy, pinched beauty. His eyes were dark like hers, intense and smart. His hair was a tousle, his eyes heavily lidded. I hesitate to say that there was a reptilian beauty to him, because that wouldn’t quite capture the flush to his skin, the shine to his eyes.
    “Luke,” said Rachel. She moved over to him and gave him a peck on the head, then dropped an arm around him. “This is Lana. She’s going to be helping us out.”
    He regarded me shyly, with the shade of a smile, and leaned in tight to his mother. I returned the smile, trying to keep the wattage down. I sensed a strange skittishness in him. I worried if I approached him too quickly, he’d retreat.
    “Hi, Luke,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”
    “Can you say hello?” she