I offer as much of a smile as I can. “I think I’m going to dad’s after school,” I lie.
“Okay.” The surprise is still not gone from her expression. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“I think I’ll stay with him tomorrow too.” I hold on to the porch railing. Then I look at my mom. The backs of her wrists are perched on her hips, like she doesn’t want to get her outfit dirty. I’m sure she has somewhere to be right after this, but she came home anyway to make sure she got the planting done on the right day. She looks down at her garden, counting to herself.
“Love you,” I say.
“Wait, wait, wait.” She hurries over and brushes my hair away from my eyes with a forearm. She dips her face down so she can look into my eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Yep,” I say. I can’t really say more, or I might cry. And I can’t cry,because then it will all come out of me. After the spell didn’t work this morning, I realized why he wanted it in the first place. And now I know I’m in danger. How could I have thought I could use the magic to heal anyone? How did I let him convince me he wanted that too?
I swallow back my fear and humiliation. Among the unspoken thoughts swimming in my brain, one needles through. “Mom, did you ever do a summoning spell without the book?”
She knots her forehead in confusion. “No, I didn’t do any spells without the book. It’s not possible.”
I nod without betraying my deep disappointment. I knew this, but I thought maybe I was wrong and could somehow summon the book to me, that I could make all this go away. But I can’t do a damn thing. Not anymore.
“Have fun with Dad,” she says.
I pull her in for a hug, crushing our bodies together. She is warm and smells of lemon cookies. “Love you, honey,” she says, hugging me back. Love oozes from her the way it always does, like it might be the last hug we ever have.
I can’t say anything, so I just nod. I don’t want her to read my face or notice that I’ve changed into my hiking boots, so I turn away quickly and give her a backward wave.
***
At Joey’s, Carly lets me in. She’s wearing a simple white T-shirt that exposes her long slender arms and bone-thin wrists, and I think about how she might have deep scars right there on those wrists—or worse—if it weren’t for her daughter.
I wait in Joey’s room and watch the clock on her dresser as rain begins to spatter the window. Four o’clock arrives. Four fifteen. Four thirty. Dust motes float past me as my panic grows. She’s not coming.
I glance at the door, praying that I’m wrong, that she’s just late, heldup by a teacher, or waylaid by a muddy street she has to traverse around. But she doesn’t come.
I fold over. My hands drop to my knees, and I squeeze my eyes tight, letting out a soundless scream. I pushed her away. There is no reason she should be here. But I can’t wait anymore. Four forty-five. Terror revs my muscles back to life, my brain barking instructions. Grab that paper over there. Write her a note. Find her hiking backpack, her tent, her stove, her rain gear.
I rummage through drawers until I find socks and underwear, extra pants, and a sports bra. I find a spare toothbrush that’s still in the packaging and a bar of soap under the sink. I race out to the kitchen, deciding on canned beans and dry rice, and two Snickers I find in the pantry. I fill up the biggest water bottle I can find. The pack is heavy, stuffed all the way up to the top. I cinch it tight and drag it to the front door. There, I swing it onto my shoulders.
Carly is sitting at her computer. She’s leaning forward and mindlessly stamping out a cigarette in an ashtray next to her.
“I left Joey a note,” I say.
“She’s not here?” she asks, looking up.
I shake my head and move a hand to the door handle. I step one foot outside, then stop. I lean my head back in and say, “Tell her I said bye,” but I’m not sure if she hears me because she doesn’t respond.
52Sophie
Sophie’s fingers feel thick and useless as she opens the journal.
Barbara sits next to her and leans in so she can see. The rain, which sounds like it is only getting worse, makes the kitchen feel closed in. A little lamp casts a dim light from the corner near a plate of cookies. Barbara wears a pendant with a jewel-studded butterfly. It catches flecks of light and spills them onto the journal. Gael is busy with something on a laptop in the other room, headphones over his ears, but Elena is not here.
The last thing Sophie wants is to reopen healed wounds, but she also knows that this is critical. Barbara drums her fingers on the table.
The inside cover of the journal is where Sophie decides to turn first, since this will do the most damage. She wants to rip the Band-Aid off.
Barbara’s fingers stop drumming. She inhales a small abrupt breath that gets stuck somewhere in her throat. Without saying anything, she traces a finger over Quinn’s name. She circles the balloon of the largeQ, then the rest of the letters, until she reaches the end of them.
“Where did you find it?” she asks. She wipes at her face.
“In my closet,” Sophie says quietly. “At my dad’s.”
