Zoey got into the Caddy and shifted into reverse. As she stepped on the gas to back out, the car bucked in fits and starts. When she pressed the pedal harder, the way she’d seen Ivy do it, she sailed backward so quickly she didn’t have time to slam on the brakes until after she’d heard a crunch beneath her tires: she had knocked into the picket fence. Knockedoverthe picket fence.
She pulled forward, turning the steering wheel to reposition the vehicle, but in her rearview mirror she saw Nick at the end of the driveway, waving his arms for her to stop. She got out of the car and yelled, “Get out of my way!”
“Gabi’s here!” he shouted back. Then he signaled to his son who stood frozen by the picket fence, his mouth hanging open, his hands on his head. “Aidan, leave the mower where it is. We’re going.”
As they left, Zoey charged down the driveway and embraced her niece, burying her face in her hair. “Where have you been, Gabi?”
Without answering, her niece pushed her arms away and dodged into the house. That’s when Zoey noticed a short, round, middle-aged man with a walrus moustache standing in front of a gray sedan parked in the street nearby. A woman, presumably his wife, was sitting in the passenger seat.
“Is everything all right here?” he asked, surveying the splintered fence and the Cadillac parked askew in the driveway, its door open and a warning bell chiming faintly.
“Who are you?” Zoey asked bluntly, wondering why he’d given her niece a ride home.
He explained he was Gabi’s history teacher, Gary Hallowell. Apparently she had climbed a tree to get over the fence in Mr. Witherell’s yard. The fence was locked from both sides and she’d been stuck for hours until Gary heard her calling for help. He would have reported her for trespassing, but usually she was so respectful and responsible he decided to let it slide. As his eyes darted around the yard, Zoey wondered if he was going to reportherto the authorities.
She thanked him for bringing Gabi home. “I promise nothing like this will happen again and we’ll pay for any damage she did to Mr. Witherell’s property.”
“She didn’t do any damage,” the teacher said as he returned to his car. “Nothing like this, anyway.”
After parking the Caddy in the garage again, Zoey went inside the house to her niece’s room. The teenager was sitting on her bed, her back turned as she faced the window.
“Why would you go to Mr. Witherell’s house? You knew he died, so it’s not as if you could have talked to him about Mark or Marcus Jr. So why would you try to break in to an empty house?”
Her niece was silent.
“Did somebody dare you?”
No response.
“I expect an answer and until you give me one, you won’t be goinganywhereafter school. Not even to band, so you’ll need to inform the director you’re not going to be performing in the concert.”
This didn’t elicit so much as a shrug.
Her obstinate passivity was exasperating and Zoey was too spent to try to break through it. As evenly as she could, she said, “I imagine you may have been frightened when you were stuck behind Mr. Witherell’s fence. And even though you brought that on yourself, it hurts to know you needed my help and I wasn’t there. I promised your mom if…”
Zoey had to stop talking, for fear she’d start bawling. When she spoke again, she went down a different path, saying, “It really upset me when I couldn’t find you, because I didn’t know if anything had happened to you. But it also upset me becauseIneeded to tellyousomething had happened and I couldn’t. This afternoon Aunt Ivy had to be hospitalized—”
“She’s not in her room?” Gabi whipped her head around. Her cheeks were red but her eyes were clear. “Is she okay?”
“She is now, yes. Or she will be. She has a blood clot in her lungs but they’re taking care of it with medication. She’ll be staying in the hospital for several days.”
Gabi blinked, her mouth opening slightly. Zoey waited for her to speak, but she turned and faced the window again.
“I’ll take you to visit her when you get home from school tomorrow,” Zoey said and left the room.
After taking a long, hot shower, she considered going downstairs since she’d promised Ivy she’d have “a decent meal” when she got home, but she retreated to her room and stretched out on her bed. She wasn’t hungry; she was depleted. Physically, mentally and emotionally; the trifecta of exhaustion.
If she craved anything, it was eight hours straight of sleep. It was a solid plan to keep Mark from putting Ivy into an assisted living facility. Or, most of all, it was a hug and a word of reassurance her aunt was going to be fine;everythingwas going to be fine. It might not have been true, but it was what she needed to hear.
She thought she heard Gabi stirring in the next room, but then she realized it was raining. Zoey disconnected her phone from the adapter and brought it downstairs. As she was walking from room to room, lowering the windows so the sills wouldn’t get wet, her phone rang—it was Mark.Now is not the time for confrontation or conflict,she reminded herself before answering it.Whatever he says, I can’t react.
But his compassionate greeting surprised her. “Hey, Zo. I’m really sorry I missed your calls and texts. I left my phone in a friend’s car and he just dropped it off now. But I’m really glad Ivy’s okay.”
“Me, too. I’m thankful they caught it in time.” She reclined on the sofa and repeated what the doctor had said about their aunt’s condition and treatment.
When she finished, he remarked, “Today must have been pretty tough for you. How are you holding up?”
That Mark’s simple inquiry nearly caused Zoey to dissolve into tears was a reflection of how volatile her emotions were. “I’m not great,” she sniffed. “Obviously.”
