I mutter a curse under my breath.
Lili nods as if she can see the wheels turning in my head, that I’m trying to reel myself back in. My anger finally bubbles up, a delayed reaction, but there nonetheless.
“I never asked you to say anything to Eryn.”
“No, but I could tell you were about to do something idiotic.”
I lower my lids to half-mast. “I’d love to hear what you think idiotic sounds like.”
A spark lights in her eyes, relief maybe, or something more. “You were going to drag her through every single thought you had last night, everything that could have happened, and all the nothing moments that did.” She crosses her arms. “I told her what actually happened. You were going to destroy her over something that only exists in your guilty conscience.”
I don’t have an immediate response to that. I didn’t have a plan when I arrived here and saw Eryn, I just knew I wasn’t going to lie to her. I do feel guilty about last night. Maybe I didn’t cross that big line, but I pushed it, more than once, and unless I’m mistaken, Lili pushed it too.
“So that’s why you did it? You took all the blame so that Eryn and I wouldn’t break up?”
Her arms slide down to her sides, and when she answers, I can hear the weariness in her voice. “I did it because Eryn doesn’t deserve to be hurt over nothing.”
I don’t challenge that statement out loud, but I don’t look away from her either, and my silence says a lot.
She breaks the stare first, glancing at the books she stacked. “I don’t think we need to talk about this anymore. We don’t open for another hour and a half, so I’m going to make sure the gift shop is ready for customers. Maybe you can—”
“Stay back here? Yeah,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. “And maybe... we should ease off the research for a while.”
She goes perfectly still for a moment before giving me a quick nod.
Twenty-Three
Lili
All day at the museum, Wren and I avoid each other as much as possible. Every glance seems too loaded, too full of unsaid things, so we both just keep our heads down. And as soon as my shift is over, I don’t stay to pore over Kezia’s diary with him for a few more hours like I normally would. I just leave.
When I get home, the house is unnervingly quiet. The usual soundtrack—the rhythmic hum of saws, the buzz of sanders, and the ’90s music Mom loves to blast—is all absent. It’s as though all the life we’ve poured into this house since coming here has been sucked out.
I call out but no one answers. Even the simple click of a door opening upstairs is missing. I shoot off a quick text, but it remains unread. It’s only after I notice the car is gone that I let a small thread of concern unspool in my chest. Maybe Goldie’s still sick, and Mom took her to the doctor? The thought lingers, but I can’t decide if something feels truly off or if it’s just my own guilty conscience lingering.
After popping up to my room to finally change into freshclothes, I find myself out on the porch, sitting with my legs pulled up to my chest, waiting. The air is warm, but cooling as the sun sets. Time drags, and I stare out at the gravel road and listen to the wind as it rustles through the trees. An hour passes before I finally hear the distant rumble of Mom’s car engine.
“Hey,” she says as she climbs out of the car, a takeout bag dangling from her hand. Her voice carries a mix of exhaustion and surprise, like she’s still catching her breath from the day. “I didn’t think you’d beat me home, or I would’ve left a note. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not long,” I say, the words coming out a little too casual, but my gaze drifts to the empty passenger seat. “Goldie’s not with you?”
“She was up before me this morning, fever gone, and too antsy to stay cooped up in the house. I checked with Mrs. Mayhew and she invited her over to explore some of the things her husband left behind.” She steps up onto the porch, but then freezes, her eyes narrowing in sudden concern. “Please tell me you haven’t used the upstairs sink?”
I frown, confusion crossing my face. “Yeah, I washed my face?” And brushed my teeth and everything else I would have done that morning if I hadn’t woken up in Wren’s truck and panic hadn’t pushed all those thoughts right out of my head.
Mom shoves the takeout bag into my arms, then bolts through the door and upstairs, muttering under breath, “Please, please, please be okay.”
By the time I get upstairs, she’s standing in the bathroom doorway, leaning slightly, her face drawn but carrying the relief of someone who’s just escaped a disaster. A weary smile pulls at her lips. “False alarm. Everything’s fine.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice hesitant as I try to peer around her into the bathroom. “What was almost not fine?”
“The fifty-plus-year-old pipe that burst up here yesterday.”
My mind reels for a moment, the guilt from earlier taking a backseat for the moment. “Wait, what?”
She sighs, pulling me back toward the stairs as she speaks. “Just use the kitchen sink for now, okay? Graham said there shouldn’t be any issues until the parts I ordered come in, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Fine. I won’t use the bathroom. But who is Graham?”
