Page 44 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
“The one of your dad?” he asks, his voice gentle. He knows what that photo means to me. What it meant to me, before it became a curl of scrap paper in a pile of debris.
“I didn’t have time to get anything out.”
Beau was in my bed that night. We were in my room. I could have grabbed the photo on the way out, but I didn’t. I could have grabbed my wallet, but I didn’t. I inhaled smoke and we left. I always thought, if I woke up in a fire, I’d have the presence of mind to take the only evidence of my dad with me. I was wrong. When the house is on fire like that, you don’t think. You just run.
“I’m sorry, Janie.”
“It’s not just that. It’s everything. My wallet. I don’t even have ID anymore.” Frustration feels better than grief. It can at least cover it up for a minute. “It’s a whole process to prove who you are. It’s like I’m nobody. I can’t prove who I am without proof of who I am. And I’m not sure who to trust around here, since whoever set the fire—”
Noah curses again. Hot embarrassment flashes over my cheeks. Cold dread in the pit of my stomach.
“Noah, don’t—”
“You have to be fucking kidding me.” His voice has dropped low, the anger not concealed at all. It’s only pitched to avoid detection by overzealous foster parents who don’t care for emotions. It shakes me to the core. “Somebody tried to get to you?”
“It’s not like—”
“And what was that rich asshole doing, Jane? Was he doing anything to protect you?”
Tears slip down over my cheeks. My hand trembles around the too-good phone. “It wasn’t his fault. Don’t be mad at him. Or me. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
It was someone’s fault. Someone set the fire. Part of me wants to accept some of the blame. Did I piss someone off from Beau’s past?
Noah lets out a breath on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But you get why I have to come out there. It’s not safe out there. These people with money get themselves in over their heads. They don’t care who they put at risk in the process. It’s a trap.”
“You don’t—there’s no need to come out here. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re crying. You don’t have any of your stuff, that damn house burned down…” Another deep breath. He’s barely in control of himself. He’s started pacing again. His footsteps echo on the sidewalk. I can’t picture where he’s at. Not very long ago, I’d have asked him where he was. Now it’ll only make me feel worse to imagine Noah walking alone on a street I used to know. “You need to come home.”
The word home makes me flinch away from the phone like he’s yelled into it. Where is home for me? Not Houston. Not anymore. Not this inn, either.
I thought I didn’t belong anywhere before the fire. Now it’s even more true.
I have none of the touchstones to remind me of who I am.
Of who I’m supposed to be.
Everything has been burned up and tossed around in the fire. I came here because I had a clear goal in mind. Do the job. Get the money. Go to college, become a social worker, and break the cycle that brought me here in the first place, alone and more than a little desperate for well-paying work.
None of this has played out the way I thought. I didn’t expect to love Paige as much as I do. I didn’t expect to fall for my boss. And for all of it to go up in smoke—
“I don’t know. Maybe I will.” He knows me. He’s seen me at my worst. On my darkest, most horrible days. It’s tempting to believe that Noah has the answers to the constant storm in my mind. Years ago, when I first met him in the foster home, I was sad about leaving my last place. He comforted me. People like you and me, we don’t stay in one place for long. If you leave early enough, you won’t miss them when you’re gone. “Maybe it’s a sign that I should come home. I really thought it was safe here.”
How could it have turned out to be less safe than a lifetime in foster homes? Every new address was another roll of the dice. I was supposed to have a better chance here.
“Come home,” he says again, and I want to give in. It hurts to think about giving in. It’s painful to imagine the scene with Paige. She might fold her little arms over her chest and turn her back on me, stone-faced and silent. Or she might break down with her red face and her frantic screaming. How can I walk away from that? I promised her I’d stay. I made a promise to her.
