Margot’s gaze dropped again. She shrugged, as if none of it mattered.
“Well.” Nicole glanced at Derek, who was still on his phone. “I guess that’s everything. You have my number if you need anything.”
Your blocked number that you never answer, I thought but didn’t say.
“We should get going,” Mama said, sensing my tension. “It’s lunchtime. Are you hungry, Margot?”
Another shrug.
“Of course.” Nicole’s smile was brilliant and completely empty. “Margot, give me one more hug.”
Margot stepped forward mechanically, let Nicole squeeze her briefly, then stepped back.
“Love you, baby,” Nicole sang out.
Margot said nothing, just grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door as if it were the gallows.
My mother took charge, bless her. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me help you with your suitcase. Is this everything?”
Margot nodded.
“Perfect. Let’s get you to the car,” Mama said.
I followed them out, carrying the folder Nicole had given me, my heart hammering so hard I worried the whole neighborhood could hear it.
Nicole stood in the doorway, waving, speaking with exclamations like it was one of her stupid social-media posts. “Drive safe. Call me when you get there.”
The words rang false, bouncing off the marble walls like stage lines from a play that had gone on too long.
I helped my mother settle Margot in the back seat, buckling her in even though she was probably old enough to do it herself. She sat rigid, staring straight ahead, clutching her stuffed bear like a lifeline.
“All good?” I asked, resisting the urge to touch her cheek.
She nodded once. “I can buckle myself. I’m not a baby.”
“Of course you can. Old habits.”
She glanced up at me quickly, curiosity reflected in her blue eyes for just a split second. But then she went blank.
I closed the door and got in the driver’s seat. Mama climbed into the passenger side. As we pulled away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Nicole had already gone inside. The door was closed. No last wave. No watching until we disappeared down the street. Just gone.
Margot stared out the window, her face expressionless.
“Do you need anything?” I asked, trying to catch her eye in the mirror. “We’ll stop for lunch in a bit. But let me know if you need a bathroom break.”
“I’m fine,” she said flatly.
“Okay. Well, let me know if that changes.”
Silence.
Mama tried next. “Are you excited to see Willet Cove? It’s a wonderful place to grow up.”
“I guess,” Margot said.
“Your dad tells me you love art,” Mama said. “I do too. I used to paint when I was younger. Not very well, but it made me happy.” Her voice was warm, conversational—steady and kind, the way you’d talk to a wounded animal. “Do you paint a lot?”
“Sometimes.”
