Wild Swans - Jessica Spotswood Page 0,60

happiness is crossing things off a to-do list.

“I don’t want to be in their stupid Peter Pan,” she whines.

“Then you can help paint sets or sew costumes or whatever else they need,” Granddad says. “You’ll be at camp every Monday through Friday for the next four weeks, 10:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. And when you get home, you’ll have a list of chores to do before dinner.”

Iz wrinkles her nose. “Chores! Why? You have a housekeeper!”

“This will be a wonderful chance for you to get to know Luisa,” Granddad says.

Poor Luisa, saddled with Iz, I think. But then I feel ashamed. Luisa has been like a mom to me: loving, encouraging, stern when I needed it. We laugh a lot together. She listens to me. Doesn’t Iz deserve someone like that too?

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the help now that there are twice as many people for her to look after,” Granddad continues. “There are rules in this house, Isobel, and there are consequences for breaking them. As long as you’re under this roof, I will not have you coming home drunk. It’s reckless and dangerous and—”

Isobel glares at him. “Mama doesn’t care. She didn’t even wait up for me.”

“Well, I care. Erica and I are going to have a long talk tomorrow about the kind of example she’s setting,” Granddad says grimly.

Isobel slumps against the wall. “What about Ivy? She was drinking too.”

“Ivy and I are going to have our own talk. You get to bed.” Granddad takes her water glass and refills it. “We’ll discuss this again tomorrow, in the event that your memory is hazy.”

Isobel glowers at us before stumbling out of the kitchen. Granddad waits until we hear her feet on the stairs before turning to me. “I had one cup of wine,” I say. “One. I heard you last week, loud and clear. You can ask me to recite the alphabet backward if you want.”

“I believe you, but what about your sister? What were you doing that was so important you couldn’t look after Isobel?” The disappointment in his voice is enough to bring me to tears.

The truth flies to my lips before I can stop it. “I was hanging out with Connor and some of his friends.”

Granddad pours himself a glass of sweet tea. “I’m glad to hear that you and Connor are getting along so well, but you should have kept an eye on your sister.”

“She was with Alex. I thought he was keeping an eye on her.”

“Oh, I’ll be having a talk with him too. But really, Ivy—you thought a bunch of senior baseball players were the best company for a drunk, vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl?” He raises his bushy eyebrows.

I think of all the senior boys on the baseball team. Boys like Cooper Sutton. Boys I grew up with, boys who have come over to swim off the dock and have barbecues in our backyard and eat Luisa’s chocolate-chip cookies by the dozens. Boys who drive their pickup trucks around town and honk and holler at girls walking down the street. Some of Alex’s friends are douche bags when it comes to girls; Coop’s a good example of that. But I don’t want to believe any of them would have hurt Isobel.

Only that’s not how the world works, is it?

Claire’s right. I can be really naive sometimes.

“I know Alex would never take advantage of her,” Granddad continues. “But I don’t know about his friends, and from the look on your face, you’re not so sure either. You have a sister now, Ivy, and you have a responsibility to look out for her. I know you’re used to it being just you and me, and I would understand if you felt a little resentful toward Isobel for—”

“Are you serious?” I interrupt. “Do you honestly think I would have let something happen to her because I’m mad that I have to share my damn towels? I’ve tried! She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

He fixes me with a frown. “Well, she needs you, whether she’s willing to admit it or not. Don’t give up on her. She’s having a hard time right now.”

And I’m not? What do I have to do for my feelings to be taken into consideration?

“I understand,” I say tightly. “Am I grounded too, or can I go to bed?”

“Tone, Ivy,” Granddad says, and waits for me to apologize. But he’d have to wait a hell of a long time, because I’m tired of apologizing when I don’t mean it. I