The humid air outside of Liberty hung heavy with morning haze. I lingered on the steps for a couple of minutes, still groggy from the extra hour of sleep. I half-expected to find Camille Roberts waiting with her arms folded across her chest. Stepping through the door, I breathed a sigh of relief. Camille was on the phone.
I slunk past her desk, hoping she wouldn"t see me.
“Excuse me, Mr. Downing,” she said. She cupped her hand over the receiver. “Park your a*s in that chair until I get off this phone.”
I flopped into the chair to await my fate, angry that my fate was so uniquely tied to the actions of my mother. She was the one who had overslept, taken her time getting ready, and complained of a hangover, all without regard for how her irresponsibility might draw down Miss Camille"s wra
