After an hour of debating, brainstorming, and good-natured fun, the students were ready to break up the party and return at a later date. Victoria said her goodbyes and slipped into the hallway while students mingled with one another. As she rushed across the quad, a phone call buzzed in her pocket, making her slow her pace.

She stopped short of Stevenson Hall and checked the screen. Mother. “Not now,” she whispered. Victoria knew that her mother wouldn’t stop until she got a reply. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Victoria, you’re still coming tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Have you found a dress yet?”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “I’m going to find something soon.”

“Please make sure that it’s tasteful. Nothing busty, nothing too formfitting. Please don’t look fast.”

Fast? She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed her mother didn’t need to prolong this conversation. “Gotcha.”

“And you’ll come to the house before we leave. You can unpack and visit with your dad before we head out. The ball starts at 18:00, so try to catch a 15:00 train.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Just make sure you keep track of the time,” Katherine reminded. “We need enough time to get prepped before the event and I cannot worry about loose ends.”

Victoria was counted in the loose threads category.

“I will be there.”

“With bells on, I hope,” her mother said in a cheery voice. “Are you excited to meet Matthew?”

“Still not interested.”

“We’ll see, little lady.”

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

“Hold your hand over your head, Johnny, before you bleed out!” Margaret shouted.

Baking Halloween cookies had been quickly put on hold in favor of a minor emergency. In the flurry of two panicked mothers hurrying around the kitchen for something to bandage his bloody hand, John chose to sit at Sandra’s dining room table. A knife was in his other hand and a hacked pumpkin sat before him. Somewhere in the laborious process of carving a smile, John’s knife had slipped and nicked his palm.

“Sandy, where’s your first aid kit?”

“In the hallway bathroom,” Sandra said as she pressed John’s bloody hand with a tea towel. “Jesus, he’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“I’m fine,” he said in a tired voice. “Really, Sandy, where are those knives I got you for Christmas? Why are you still using these dull blades?”

“Johnny, put that knife down and hush up,” Margaret called from the bathroom. She came rushing back to the kitchen, blowing her hair out of her eyes. Locks of red hair had escaped the bun tied at the back of her head, making her already frantic appearance more witchy. John didn’t have it in him to laugh at his mothers. He didn’t have the heart to laugh at anything at the moment. “You need to save your strength.”