“What do you mean, live with them?” I asked. I thought: If they want to formally adopt her, I’ll kill them. “Just that.” Gemma sat at the table with me. “They want me to live with them and go to some private school. Ellen says they’ll pay for everything, tuition and all. And that they’ll give me an allowance.” I placed my hands squarely on the table. It took every ounce of my willpower to remain at least outwardly calm, like the rational adult I’m supposed to be. “How do you feel about the idea?” I asked. “I mean, in general.” Gemma shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s so . . . it’s so out of the blue. I mean, they hardly know me, and they want me to move in with them? At first I thought it was some sick joke.” “But does the idea appeal to you?” I pressed, maybe unfairly. “I guess,” she said. “A little. I mean, she said we’d go to Paris on spring break.” Since when, I thought, has Gemma wanted to go to Paris? And if she has been dreaming about it, why hasn’t she told me?
