Chapter 31 Riley

CHAPTER 31

Riley

BY THE TIME dinner is served in Ketcham's Tavern, Colton and I have wandered to every corner of Fort Bellows. We never did get around to having that talk. Much like the main characters in a period piece, we've been reduced to quick grazes of our hands as we walk along the dirt lanes and stolen kisses in the stable when we went to check on Chance. He didn't seem to mind, since we bought his silence with a handful of carrots.

After we make our way into the tavern, it takes a moment for me to spot Mom and Dad deep in discussion in the back corner. Colton and I start toward their table, but something about the seriousness of their expressions brings me up short. My legs go leaden and it's like my feet have been superglued to the rough wooden floorboards.

"Is everything okay?" Colton glances down at me with concern.

My gut says no, but what am I supposed to say? I've got a weird feeling that my parents are about to drop yet another huge bombshell on me.

Paranoid much?

I swallow down the discomfort. "There's only one empty seat at the table." I look around to see if maybe there's an extra chair we can drag over so we can sit together. Colton would be the perfect buffer between me and my parents. Unfortunately, it seems that every seat in this place is already taken.

"Oh, right." Colton nods. "I forgot that everyone's assigned a spot at a table, since I hardly ever come to these things. It's hard to shift things around. I'll just grab dinner over there with the rest of the staff."

So much for thinking that we could eat together. My heart pangs with disappointment.

"Or we could go? You could show me how to forage for wild edibles in the prairie. How far away is the nearest fishing spot? Maybe I could teach you a thing or two," I tease, taking a step backward toward the door.

Colton stops me by cupping my elbow. My skin sizzles under his touch.

"And have you miss out on Chef Ignatius's authentic 1850s-style homestead cooking?" He gives me a playfully stern look and drops his hand. "That would be a real shame."

I glance over at my parents, debating whether to bail on dinner, when my mom turns to face me. The minute we make eye contact, I know I'll have to stay and tough it out. She waves me over while flashing a plastic smile. I hold up a hand to let her know I'll be a minute.

Or two. Or five.

I wonder how long I can stretch it out.

Colton's big brown eyes sparkle. "Aren't you even a little curious about what's on the menu?"

"Okay, fine," I say, rolling my eyes. "I'll stay. But please tell me there's no bacon involved. Don't get me wrong, I love bacon as much as the next girl, but I'm starting to get the arteries of an eighty-year-old man."

"Bacon is a way of life here."

"Well, it's also the way to an early death in the quantities we've been eating out on the trail."

"True." Colton tips his head toward my family's table. "You should probably get going."

"Do you have a place to sit?"

"There's an employee table next to the kitchen."

It's hard to force my feet to move. My hand reaches out and grabs Colton's. He gives it a reassuring squeeze before dropping it quickly.

"I'll see you after dinner?" I ask.

"I'd like that, but…" Colton shrugs. "I still have some work to do. I need to check on Chance and the other animals again, and see if Dad's got anything for me to prep for tomorrow. Leave your window cracked and if I can stop by before it gets too late, I'll holler up?"

"You could always toss pebbles."

"I might be a horrible shot. What if I wake your parents? Or the Stones, who are right next door?"

"And you think hollering up at me like Romeo is going to be any better?" I give his arm a playful smack. "If you can toss a lasso, you can chuck a few pebbles, Colton Walker."

There's a flash of heat in his eyes. He leans in until he towers over me and says, "I'll be seeing you again real soon, Riley Thomas."

It's pointless to fight the grin. "You better."

Mom and Dad are unusually quiet throughout our dinner of chicken, rice, and some sort of garden green that could have started out as spinach or kale, but after extended sautéing is now a lumpy mass on my plate. Caleb has spent most of our meal swiveling back and forth in his seat to shove food in his mouth and then turn away to chat with a few of his buddies who are conveniently at the table behind him.

Now I know something's up with our parents, because they would have been all over him for bad manners any other night of the week. Not gonna lie—I'm curious to know what has Mom and Dad so quiet and somber, but after almost a week of avoiding them, it feels weird to ask.

After tentatively poking at the green glob, I scoop up a bit on the tip of my fork and try it. It's not as bad as it looks, but I still can't tell what it is. Colton would know and would probably have a story about how the first Nebraska settlers survived on dandelion leaves, foraged wild onion, and cattails, and how Chef Ignatius's re-creation was featured in Traditional Cuisine of the Midwest.

Given the weird vibe at this table, I really wish Colton were here to offer up one of his comforting nods or one of those half-smiles that are starting to grow on me. If I tip forward and lean to the right, I can just barely make out the top of his head from all the way across the room.

When I sit back in my chair, Mom is looking at me with a half-pained, half-sympathetic look.

"What?" I ask, shifting in my seat.

Mom shakes her head as if clearing away a thought and forces a smile. "We got an update from the movers. Our stuff should arrive Monday."

"Okay."

"Oh, and the painters will be available a week earlier than expected. Your dad and I were thinking of painting the house a neutral color throughout. This weekend, we can head to the paint store and look at samples for your room. You can pick any color you want. Lavender. Teal."

"Black like your heart," Caleb chimes in.

My foot connects with his shin under the table.

"Ouch."

"Thomas family," Dad says in a warning tone.

Mom continues. "Maybe you could do one of those cool geometric pattern things, with painter's tape? I saw it in a magazine." To anyone else, I'm sure she sounds enthusiastic and authentic, but there's just a little too much brightness to her voice and the smile she has pasted on doesn't quite make it to her eyes.

I glance over to Colton's table, but he must have ducked out early to finish his chores so he could meet up with me later. I tug at my suffocating high collar and force in a breath of stagnant air. I get that there was no AC back in the day but would it have killed someone to install a ceiling fan or a hidden ventilation system or something?

"I need some air," I say, pushing back from the table.

"I'll come with you," Mom says, hurrying after me.

The outside air is only a few degrees cooler than in the tavern. My skirt swirls around my heels and it occurs to me that this ridiculous dress is the problem. I stride toward the hotel, determined to get out of this monstrosity ASAP.

Mom doesn't say a thing as we trudge up the stairs. She's silent as we push open the door to our room. She doesn't even make a peep as she sits on the edge of my bed, watching me pull a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from my duffel bag.

"So, we just found out there's a bit of a hiccup with your school registration," she says.

I pull off the bonnet and toss it onto the bed next to her. My matted hair is itchy against my scalp and I run my hands over it for some relief. "Like, my transcripts didn't arrive?" I'm still hotter than hell, so I pull up the sash on the window to try to get some airflow going.

When I turn back to face her, Mom presses a finger to her temple and sighs. "No, they arrived. Unfortunately—"

Here it comes. My breath catches in my chest.

"Some of your classes won't transfer for credit, because the graduation requirements are different in the school district we're moving into."

"Okay. How many classes are we talking?" I say, cautiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Three."

I think about the classes I selected and what my schedule was supposed to look like senior year, already packed full with science classes and art electives. A seed of panic takes root in my lower abdomen but I force myself to stay calm. "I'm not sure how I can fit in three more classes this year, even if I drop my electives."

"You're right." Mom nods. "You can't. If you want to graduate on time, you'll have to enroll in summer school."

My ears are ringing so loudly, I couldn't possibly have heard her correctly. "I'm sorry. Did you just say summer school?"

"Yes."

"School that happens over the summer?" I say.

"Yes."

All the breath leaves me like I've been sucker punched.

"The summer semester starts in two weeks," she says. "You can take the three classes you need and maybe an art elective for fun, and then you'll be on track to graduate with the rest of your class in June."

"That's not fair," I say. I start to shake uncontrollably. I hate this. I hate how Mom can sit there so calmly and tell me I'm being punished yet again because she and Dad decided to uproot our family and move to Nebraska. "I was forced to give up an internship at the marine center and spending a last carefree summer with my friends. Basically, my entire life. And now you expect me to go to summer school?"

"Riley," Mom says. "You don't need to be dramatic. We all knew there would be challenges going into this, but your father and I felt that this was too good an opportunity for our family to pass up."

"I'm not being dramatic," I say, tossing my hands in the air. "You're the one who decided to move us to Nowhere, Nebraska, with next to no warning. Maybe if I'd known you and Dad were considering a move, it wouldn't have hit so hard. I know that it's a great opportunity for you. But it's also a bunch of lost opportunities for me. No one asked me what I wanted. You wouldn't even consider letting me stay in California. And now you tell me the rest of my summer is destroyed."

I had just started to come to terms with the move. I thought maybe I could spend the summer with Colton. Maybe apply for the artist-in-residence at Fort Bellows. Work on my art portfolio. But with three classes, there won't be time for any of that. My breath comes in shaky gasps. My heart aches for all my ruined plans, new and old.

I pull out the application I picked up at the museum and stare down at the words. They blur as tears fill my eyes. The paper crinkles into a tight ball in my hands.

"How could you do this to me?" I rage as I toss it into the trash can.