Sam was making the bed, pulling up the sheet and smoothing it flat. He frowned over his shoulder. “Jeez, Kate. Be nice.”
The girl kept scowling.
“Diary,” Maggie repeated with a nod. She stepped back but couldn’t resist murmuring, “I thought you said it was a story about poisonous kitties…”
“It is. I am a poisonous kitty.”
“Ah. That makes sense.”
“My name is Splash. And this is my diary. No one can read it unless I say so. My dad can read it. My mom can read it. (And you are not my mom.) Grandpa can read it.” She paused, as if deliberating, then added, “Wren can read it, too. That’s all.”
“Except for you,” Maggie said lightly. “You forgot yourself.”
“Well, duh. It’s mine. My diary.”
Maggie turned and rolled her eyes at a bookcase. I don’t want to steal a peek at your stupid diary.
Sam flung the edge of a pink quilt across the bed and straightened it. “There’s a nice way to talk to company, Kate, and how you’re talking isn’t it. Why don’t you show Maggie your new American Girl—” His phone chimed. He dug it out of his jacket pocket, checked the screen, and briefly closed his eyes. On his way out of the room, he answered tersely, “What’s up, Linnie?”
Maggie and Kate stared after him.
“Right now?” he demanded, gripping the back of the couch. “Can’t Kyle go get you?” After a moment of listening, he breathed a humorless laugh. “So why don’t you just crash there?” He began to pace, head lowered, his free hand tugging at the hair by his nape. Halting, he squawked, “What? You can’t do that. We’re not paying rent anymore. Shit, we haven’t even paid up on the rent we owe.” He fell silent for a few seconds, then snapped, “Well, no wonder. I don’t blame him. He probably figured you’d pull a stunt like this.” He blew a loud sigh. “Listen. I’m beat, Dad’s teaching, and I’ve got Kate.”
As if the sound of her name was her cue, Kate sprang up and bounded into the den. “I’ll go! We can both go! Let’s go get her!”
Dread filled Maggie. She should have left when Thomas had. She did not belong in this drama. She didn’t want to belong.
Kate kept begging her dad.
Sam gave Maggie a pleading glance.
Note to self: Avoid Kate at all costs. Maggie edged closer to the girl, mentally scrambling for a way to tempt her back into the room. “Hey, Kate. What’s that thing? You know … the new thing your dad mentioned?”
The girl didn’t even look at her. “Let’s get Mom! Let’s go!”
“Sh.” He put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Sorry, Kate, but we can’t do that.” To Linnie, he said in a bitter rush, “I’m not dragging my daughter out that way, and I seriously wish you’d start making some better decisions. You’re—you’re—” He breathed quickly, almost a pant, and finished, “Impossible.”
Maggie, standing outside the doorway to Kate’s room, could hear Linnie’s answer: a trill of laughter.
Sam growled. “Fuck you.” He ended the call, threw the phone on the couch, then fell beside his cell, the top of his head landing in his palms.
Kate slipped to his side.
“Sorry I swore,” he said gruffly.
“Where’s Mom? Is she okay? Are we going to get her?”
“She’s fine.” He cleared his throat, straightened, and tried for an assertive tone: “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” He glanced at Maggie and said wearily, “She’s stuck in the old neighborhood—went there to hang out at this total loser’s place. I guess things got crazy fast. Neighbor came over, complained about the noise, threatened to call the cops. Linnie tries to avoid the police”—his glower briefly made room for a bitter smile—“for good reason. So she left, figured she’d just stroll down the street, over to the apartment we used to rent, and pass out there.” With sudden fierceness, he flung his head back against the couch and glared at the ceiling. “Unbelievable.” He rubbed his eyes. “Anyway, the landlord changed the locks, and now she’s stranded. She does this to me. This … shit”—he backhanded the air—“all the time. It’s like a test. ‘If I hang off this branch, if I cling to the cliff’s edge, will someone save me? Am I worth saving?’” He groaned. “I don’t know if it’s a conscious thing, but that’s her routine. It sucks. And I am so sick of it.”
Maggie nodded. She wasn’t sure what to say or even if she should say anything. His little kid, perfectly still and wide-eyed, was staring straight at him.
He glanced at her, too, and regret crossed his face. He slumped on the couch, head in his hands again.
“I’m scared.” Kate began to cry. “I want Mom. I want her right now.”
He drew her close and wrapped her in his arms, while murmuring soothing shushes and “She’s fine … don’t worry … nothing to worry about.”
Maggie sighed. Doomed. “Go ahead and get her, if you want. I’ll watch Kate.”
Sam glanced up hopefully.
But Kate-the-sad-stray disappeared. “No way!” she shouted.
Maggie flinched. It was embarrassing how much this kid loathed her.
Kate flew off the couch. “I want to go with you! I’m not staying with her! I hate her! She is not my mom!” She stomped around the den, fists flailing, tears flying.
Sam stood. “That’s enough!”
Kate stormed into her room, slammed the door, then opened it again to deliver some encore door-slamming.
He shot after her and grabbed the knob. “Cut it out.”
“I won’t stay with her. She is not my mother. You can’t make her be my mother!”
Maggie shuffled toward the staircase.
At last, the door was shut, and it stayed shut, but sobbing persisted on the other side. Sam gave Maggie a mortified glance. “Aren’t we one big happy family?” He ran a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”
Maggie shook her head. “I’ll go.”
“I don’t blame you. I’d go, too. But it’s getting dark. Sure you don’t want to wait until Dad’s back? Then I can drop—”
“No. I mean I’ll go get Linnie, see if I can find her”—she shrugged—“if you want to lend me your truck.”
He stared. “Do you remember how to get there?”
She nodded.
His features sagged in relief. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she heads to Caleb’s. He lives down the street from the old place. You’ll know which house is his. He and his housemates always have friends over Thursday nights. I’ll give Wren the heads-up, let her know I’ll be getting you home after Dad’s back from his class.” He rubbed his nape. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“Yeah.” No. Not really. But she’d rather look for Linnie than stay here with Kate.
9
MAGGIE LIKED DRIVING Sam’s truck—or more specifically, she liked driving it fast. Through the open window, the cold air, smelling like leaves, blew across her warm face. She sank into an electric mindlessness, a state she recognized as both an achievement and, aided by how fast she flew down Redman, the start of a good emotion. A rare one. Freedom.
She was getting away.
There was a clean emptiness to this place, a smoothness that made speeding easy. The cloudless sky poured stars all the way down to the flat fields. Without mountains or even hills to embellish the horizon, the lake country was like a hand splayed to palm the night.
When she neared Allenport, however, she lost the happy rush.
Her heart thudded faster; her skin prickled. Main Street was busy.
Stopped at a light, she glanced over at a busy café. Its windows framed a space filled with diners. On either side of the café stood bars, their windows inky except for the neon beer signs. Most of the shops were closed for the night. Outside Tin Tavern, a few people talked, and on the steps leading up to a tattoo parlor, four lanky guys sat and smoked—college students starting their weekend early, Maggie guessed. She wondered if Ran and the book club girls were out tonight. And she wondered about Jane Cannon. What’s she d
oing right now? How is she doing?
Maggie gripped the wheel tighter. She wished she could shake the guilt. The light changed, and she drove on, only to brake a few seconds later at the sight of a figure waiting on a corner. The woman hurried across the street, raising her hand in thanks. A streetlight illuminated her, the high cheekbones, the flash of red hair. She was young, younger than Maggie had first thought. Young and alone.
She drove on but glanced in the rearview mirror. When the girl got into the passenger side of an idling sedan, Maggie started breathing again.
At the corner of Main and Lincoln, Sam’s old street, she stopped at another light. In front of the movie theater, a couple argued. Opposite the theater, a few girls laughed their way out of The Mason Jar. Two guys, wearing short sleeves despite the evening chill, crossed the street, the shorter of them calling toward the giggling girls, “Time for McGregor’s?” Both men’s gazes veered Maggie’s way when they passed the front of the truck. She pretended she didn’t notice.
Rolling up her window, she had the grim thought, Everyone here … hunters or prey. Then she gave her head a toss and flexed her hands against the wheel, distractedly noting her body’s rigidness, the dampness of her skin. When the light turned green, she waited for a car to pass, then turned left and took a deep breath. Just find Linnie.
House lights brightened Lincoln Street. People were outside, but there was no traffic, so Maggie was able to investigate at a snail’s pace. She leaned forward to peer at the duplexes and small apartment buildings (shabby places, student housing probably) and looked for Linnie’s blond hair and full figure. When her search caught pedestrians’ attention, they stared back, annoyed or pleased, depending—well, depending on a lot of things.
At the end of the street, she pulled the truck into a crumbling driveway to turn around and scan the other side of the road. No one looked like Linnie. With a sting of unease, she slowed when she passed the dark-windowed place Sam and Linnie used to rent and then rolled her shoulders to try to unknot them.
Near the movie theater, she turned around and repeated the search, all the way to the block’s end. One house there was a possibility. She parked to consider it.
Lights shone in the smudged windows. No curtains concealed the inside, and people appeared in passing. On the front porch, a few more drank and smoked, leaning against the posts and railings.
She got out of the pickup, shut the door, and stuffed Sam’s keys into her cardigan pocket. Her phone was in there, too, and her mind grazed the matter of Jane Cannon before settling on the situation ahead of her, the house of strangers.
It’s just a party. Jesus, Maggie. It’s supposed to be fun. Sara Wood’s words. Maggie stumbled on the sidewalk.
Approaching the porch, she blotted her forehead with her arm. She felt … muddled. As if conch shells were pressed to her ears, muting other sounds with their waves. As if she’d fallen into those waves. Her hand trembled. She wrapped it around Sam’s keys.
The people on the porch eyed her with unmasked curiosity.
She focused on the person closest to the door, a woman with dark hair in a high ponytail and a hand clutching her coat at the throat.
“I’m looking for Linnie…” Linnie who? What was Linnie’s last name? Why hadn’t she asked Sam this beforehand? Lamely, she started again. “I’m looking for someone named Linnie. Do you know her?”
The woman with the ponytail and someone across from her shared a wry glance. She raised her Labatt Blue to indicate the door. “In there.” She took a sip. “Somewhere.”
Maggie exhaled. “Thanks.” She trudged up the stairs and slipped inside.
The place was crowded. Talk and laughter mixed with music, and it took her a moment to recognize an Ariana Grande song. To her left, smoke clouded the living room. People lounged on three couches, mismatched and ratty, around a table cluttered with drinks. Somewhere in the house, a dog barked. The dining room to her right had a table that was missing its chairs. Four men were talking and drinking by the table.
No one in the living room seemed to register her arrival, but the tallest guy in the dining room huddle did. His eyebrows shot up. He smiled. “How’s it going?” He drank what was left of his beer.
Maggie just nodded and folded her arms. “Do you know where I can find Linnie?”
“Not sure.” He raised his hand, an apologetic gesture. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No. No, thanks. I just need to find Linnie.” I need to find Sara. Sara Wood. Do you know her?
“Hey, Tim.” He tapped the guy next to him with his bottle.
Tim turned in a staggering way.
“Where’s Linnie?”
“Basement, maybe.”
“They still playing beer pong?”
“As long as there be beer, young Caleb, there be pong.”
Caleb. While Tim snorted a laugh at his own comment, Maggie wondered if this was the guy that Sam had mentioned. Caleb rolled his eyes at Tim and said something about dumb jokes.
She retreated a few steps. The door to the basement was probably in the kitchen. Should she ask to make sure or just find her own way?
“Who are you with?” Caleb asked.
She took another step back. Waves slammed in her ears. I was with my friend, but I can’t find her. “My boyfriend…” Jesus, too loud, shut up. In a higher pitch, she added quickly, “He’s a cop.”
“Oh.” He looked at her funny. “Okay?” His wide shoulders came up. “I’ll show you the basement.”
Maggie followed him through the dining room. She stared straight ahead. She didn’t want to know if anyone was studying her. She didn’t want to make eye contact. Yeah, you. Come over here. Free shots for Matt’s special guests. Now don’t say that. If you’re pretty, you’re automatically Matt’s special guest.
Caleb led her into the kitchen. Its counters and stovetop were littered with empty bottles, plastic cups, and the remains of a huge birthday cake decorated with a unicorn and frosted in purples and pinks. The horn, swirling forelock, and blue eyes remained.
Caleb smiled sheepishly. “It was on sale. Help yourself.” With a tilt of his head, he indicated the door between the microwave and fridge. “I think she’s down there.” He looked at her questioningly. “Let me know if you need anything.” He nodded once and went back to the dining room.
Maggie stared after him blankly, then took a step down. At once, mustiness and shadows enveloped her. Laughter drifted up.
Her stomach roiled. She reached sideways, found the thin bannister, and held it tightly. This place was familiar. The dankness. The darkness.
She knew where she was. She’d never left it.
At the foot of the stairs, she closed her eyes and shuddered. “Sara?”
“Who?”
She blinked.
Three women, sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor and harboring two stacks of cards and a few bottles between them, stared up at her. More cards were fanned in their hands. One player with gleaming hair falling in a tawny sheet over her shoulder repeated, “Who?”
Maggie shook her head. Smoke curled throughout the room and seemed to enter her head like a thick miasma, wafting around and clouding her perceptions. Yeah, in there. Kill the light. You have her? Let me see. Hey, now, there’s nothing to get bitchy about. This will be fun. Just calm—fuck. That hurt. “I’m looking for…” She swayed and grabbed hold of the railing again.
A skinny guy, leaning over a stack of boxes a few feet away, smirked. “I want what she’s on.” He rolled a blunt and crossed to the card players to pass it to the woman who’d spoken.
Holding her splayed cards against her chest, she flicked her curtain of hair over her shoulder before accepting it.
Maggie sidestepped past them into a sprawling cinder block space of boxes and chairs and free weights and a treadmill and music and smoke and then the broad backs of men, one, two, three, four, five, six, strong and laughing, come on, now, you’re only hurting yourself, grouped around something, so
meone, spectators to an activity.
Maggie swerved closer, arms outstretched.
One muttered, “Good form,” and another said, “Too easy. Tack on another fifty.”
Linnie. The name came to her, a submerged body at last breaking the surface. “Linnie!” she cried and shot forward, making an arrow of her body that parted the men who’d turned at the sound of her shout.
She froze.
They were not circling Linnie.
It was a sweaty man on a bench. A weight bench. With a surprised laugh, he rested two dumbbells on his damp stomach. “Seriously?” he asked her. “Linnie?” He let his head fall back and moaned.
Everyone laughed, a response that simultaneously mortified and grounded her.
One of the guys snickered, “Better keep lifting, buddy.”
Another said, “You’re really, really close, Jack, on the brink of passing for a man.”
The brunt of the jokes released the weights to the floor on either side of him. He drew up his T-shirt and mopped his face. “I could do a decent Linnie impression.” He sat up, widened his eyes, and asked in a soft lilt, “Mind if I crash here for a week?”
“Or a year?” another asked in a falsetto.
When the laughter died, Jack finished, “And smoke all your weed?” His smile slipped. He slumped on the bench. “Fucking Caleb.”
The others nodded. One of them muttered, “First Mark, then Tatum, then Fluffster—”
Jack glanced at Maggie and, with a weary wave, explained, “A mutt. Absolutely infested with fleas.”
“Caleb’s a sucker.”
“He kind of reminds me of Santa Claus,” a scrawny guy said.
“Well, I’m sick of it. He can get his own place and run it as a free boardinghouse.” Jack grunted. “Let him feed them.”
“And weed them.”
The laughter started up again, but Jack shook his head and swatted the air to his left. “Linnie’s in there.” He smiled sourly. “Do us a favor. Take her with you.”
* * *
Maggie secured her seat belt with a trembling hand, started Sam’s pickup, and pulled away from the curb. She sighed. Even her breath shook. She shot her passenger a sidelong glare.
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