His voice sounded totally fine, but the words weren’t making much sense. Unless…
“Did you have a rollover accident on M-22?” I asked. “Did you end up inverted? I drove past that on my way here.”
“It was me,” he said. “My life has gone to hell.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. Today he had been dumped by his wife, lost his job, and destroyed his car. “You still have your health,” I consoled him, but then he sneezed. He really should have been wearing a coat. “Can I call someone for you? How about that agent guy?”
“He dropped me as a client.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll get the coffee to warm you up.” What else could I do? I went into the back room to see if we actually had any coffee because it wasn’t a beverage that we served frequently here. And even though it was only a few minutes later that I returned with a brimming mug that I’d found (and washed), the booth at the back was now empty.
I went immediately to the door and opened it to look out into the parking lot but Jannie, the owner, didn’t want to pay for lights outside and I couldn’t see much. I definitely didn’t spot a large, good-looking guy in a backwards T-shirt.
“Close the damn door!” one of the regulars yelled. “He left.”
I didn’t close it. I couldn’t leave the register and my stuff, but I still wanted to look. “Where did he go?” I asked over my shoulder.
“How the hell should I know? I’ll have another drink.” He wiggled his nearly empty 7 and 7 at me. “Close the door.”
Reluctantly, I did close it, and I walked back to the booth where Everett Ford had sat. It was empty with no sign that he’d ever been there, but had I expected a note or something?
“Did you see he got sent down to the Junior Woodsmen?” the same man called to me, and I nodded.
“He had a bad day,” I said, and that was an understatement.
The First Half
Chapter 1
If I ignored her, maybe she would stop. That strategy had never worked for me in the past, but neither had arguing or yelling. Neither had bribery or persuasion, and neither had anything else. When my sister wanted something, one of us eventually gave in.
That person was rarely her. “Zoey!” she yelled again.
I sighed, but quietly. Self-pity had never done anything for me, either. “Coming,” I answered, but I still didn’t make a move. Instead, I watched as little white clouds formed from my breath because the heat didn’t reach well into the second floor where I had my bedroom. December hadn’t been bad, but January had been frigid so far. I didn’t mind the cold, especially when I got to stay cozy in my bed, but—
My sister Willow yelled my name again, and this time, guilt forced me up and out of the warm cocoon of blankets. I pulled on a sweatshirt before I went down to her room on the first floor, the one that had belonged to my parents. She was also under apile of blankets, although it was a lot warmer here. I could only see the top of her blonde head on her pillow.
“What do you need?” I asked.
“I’m hungry,” she told me. I could hear from her voice that she’d had a bad night and I immediately felt sorry that I’d made her wait. I had contemplated ignoring her, too, which was just mean. Another sigh turned into a yawn as I went to the kitchen, but I had to get my morning going anyway because weekends were for catch-up. On Saturdays, I usually cleaned, grocery shopped, and then tried to eke out time to do homework and class-prep stuff before I had to head to Jannie’s bar for my shift there. It would have been nice, I decided as I cracked an egg, to snuggle in my bed all day, watch stupid videos, catch up on the shows that people talked about, and read a good book. Then, when it got later, I would go out to dinner with friends.
I changed my mind. I would go out for drinks with friends, and then I’d meet up with my boyfriend…no, we wouldn’t meet. He would come to my new place, because I had my own apartment in this daydream. I had a nice car, too, but he would pick me up.
“You look beautiful,” he’d tell me when he stopped in front of my building. Actually, he would come to my front door, because he would want to walk me down to his own car, which was a brand-new—
“Is it ready?” Willow yelled, and I carefully flipped the egg and pushed down the lever to make the toast.
“Almost,” I called. I noticed the time on the clock on the microwave and, right on schedule, my mom came in. She worked the third shift so as usual, she looked very tired.
“Hi,” I greeted her, and she nodded slightly. “Want some breakfast?”
“No.” She untied her boots and then went to Willow’s room, which my parents had previously shared for more than fifteen years. Now Mom was in the basement, which we’d converted to a sleeping space, so that my sister could be close to the bathroom on the ground floor. I heard them talking together, Willow’s voice rising as the conversation went on. I didn’t pay attention to the specific words since they didn’t matter very much, but when I put the breakfast dishes on the tray and carried it into the bedroom, I did catch part of their argument. It seemed to be on parallel tracks—like, they were both angry and fighting, but they weren’t engaging with each other.
“I want to go,” my sister said. “I want to have a life but you don’t care!”
“You can’t text me so much when I’m at work,” my mom answered. “I can’t be checking my phone all the time.” She didn’t say it, but she was afraid to ignore the messages in case there was an emergency. That had happened. “It’s ridiculous and you’re acting like a kid.”
“If Zoey drives me, I can do it,” Willow responded. “I’m going and I don’t need your help anyway.”
