Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,45

with Owen. Jennifer would have turned around to talk to her, but Dyma would have said something. Something adult and cautionary, possibly, which was a role reversal Jennifer did not need right now. So she just sat there as the driver pulled out and Dyma said, “They’d better have coffee at this airport.”

“We’ll get some on the plane, anyway,” Owen said.

“Ha,” Dyma said. “In about two hours. I’ve been on a plane twice in my life before this trip down here. Well, four times, there and back. The mechanical part of it was good to see, but the rest of the experience wasn’t very impressive.”

“Twice?” Owen said.

“To LA,” Dyma said. “And Boston. Mom and I went to look at schools last year.”

“Which ones?” Owen asked.

“MIT. Cal Tech. UCLA. Those were the main ones. I applied to more, but we didn’t get a chance to visit them.”

“Which one are you ending up at?”

“None. University of Washington gave me the best package, they have in-state tuition for Idaho residents, and Mom can drive me there. That made the decision pretty easy. Plus, Boeing’s in Seattle, so—internship, right? I really wanted MIT, because it’s the best, but we couldn’t swing it. I figure, MIT for grad school, after I get a few more years to build up my credentials and impress them. Stretch goals are important. They keep you motivated.”

“They sure do,” Owen said. “Nothing good comes easy. Good to have it paid for, too.”

“Well, it’s not exactly paid for,” Dyma said. “They cover all the fees, though, and a little more, too. Mom’s paying half the rest, and I’m doing loans for the other half, and getting a job. Another job. Fortunately, I have excellent credentials in the food-service industry, and Washington’s minimum wage is higher than Idaho’s. Do you know how much MIT would have been? Seventy-three thousand dollars a year, and they were only offering forty-five thousand. Good thing my school offers so many AP classes, huh? I’m planning to get my BS in three years, which will mean only about thirty thousand in loans. And then I go for my master’s.”

Kris glanced at Jennifer, and she looked out of the window. Yep. That was an airport out there, all right. She tried not to think about Dyma telling them all this, or about the gap between her grandpa’s Social Security and his living expenses, now that her mom’s Social Security disability wasn’t part of the picture, her own imminent lack of a job, or the fact that she was going to be moving in with her grandpa or moving to Portland and trying the Mary Tyler Moore thing. Except that she was older than Mary. And more desperate.

Face facts. She was going to have to do Blake’s Portland thing whether it was scary or not. Otherwise, she was going to run out of money to help Dyma, even if she moved in with her grandpa. Jobs in Wild Horse just didn’t pay enough.

Dyma would be fine. She’d get a good job after that master’s, and she’d pay those loans back. She had to be fine. Dyma was doing this.

Kris said quietly, “That’s some responsibility.”

She nodded, but she didn’t look at him. “It’s my choice,” she said. “It’s always been my choice.”

“Right,” he said. “It can still be a responsibility.”

She glanced at him, then back out the window. “Hey. We just missed the turn for the terminal. We’re going to have to go around again.”

“Ah,” he said. “Actually, no. There’s something I need to tell you.”

15

Many Revelations

The driver turned onto an unmarked road that led to a small building with a half-dozen small jets perched beyond it like sleek little falcons, and Jennifer said, “You chartered a jet to get to this party? OK, now you’ve really gone the extra mile, because that’s almost two thousand dollars an hour for the most bare-bones extra-light, and if you’re planning on using it to fly back, that’s a lot of hours. I’ve got news for you. Unless the money to pay for it comes from your family, you don’t have to worry about your dad, because it’s already clear how far you’ve come. You don’t have to say a word. Surely you realize that.”

Kris looked startled. “How do you know what it costs? Also, two thousand? What, I’m flying you in some tin can? We’re sitting on fold-down seats? I’m offended.”

She sighed. “That’s ridiculous. Obviously, I don’t fly this way. Am I supposed to turn up my nose at the non-rosewood paneling?