Chapter 3
I quit before lunch.
Mrs. Torres cried in the service elevator.
“Abby, please. Jobs like this are hard to get.”
“I know.”
“Mr. Cross asked me to offer you a raise.”
“That makes it worse.”
She lowered her voice.
“He does this because people steal from him.”
“Then he should hire better security, not bait desperate workers.”
Her eyes softened.
“Desperate?”
I looked away.
Too late.
Mrs. Torres touched my arm.
“Is it your father?”
I nodded.
“And Mateo.”
She sighed.
“Why didn’t you say?”
“Because everybody has problems. Mine are not a tip jar.”
When I got home, rain dripped through the bedroom ceiling into a cooking pot.
Mateo sat at the kitchen table with tuition papers spread out in front of him.
He saw my face.
“What happened?”
“I quit.”
His eyes widened.
“From Cross?”
“Yes.”
“Abby, that job paid more than—”
“I know.”
Dad called from the rehab center before Mateo could finish.
His voice was tired.
“Insurance denied the extension.”
I gripped the phone.
“For how long?”
“All of it.”
I closed my eyes.
Behind me, water hit the pot one drop at a time.
Everything had a sound when it fell apart.
Mateo lowered his head.
“I’ll defer school.”
“No,” I said.
“Abby.”
“No.”
I hung up and called three agencies before dinner.
All full.
All slow.
All promising to “keep my file.”
At eight that night, someone knocked.
Mateo opened the door.
Julian Cross stood in our hallway, holding no umbrella, rain darkening his coat.
My brother stared.
I stood.
“You have cameras here too?”
Julian looked at the leak in my ceiling.
Then at the pot.
Then at me.
May you like
His face changed.
“No,” he said quietly. “I came to apologize.”
