“Mischa’s totally alone, Mom,” I reminded her. “Everyone’s been telling me that the doctors don’t think Amanda’s going to pull through.” Mom didn’t need to know that Mischa was ignoring my calls and texts, and probably architecting my violent death at that very moment.

Mom sighed, and I could practically hear her changing her mind over the phone. “I don’t think I can swing it, McKenna. Would you mind asking your dad to pitch in for the flight? Last-minute airfare from Tampa’s going to cost twice what it usually does, plus it’s Easter weekend. There may not even be any tickets left.”

“I can cover the plane ticket,” I lied, suspecting it would be best not to mention that Violet Simmons had anything to do with my plan to return home for the weekend. “I have a job, remember?”

“Ask your father,” Mom said sternly, making it clear that she wasn’t looking for a reason to talk to him—and that I’d need his permission. Luckily for both of us, Dad tended to leave matters related to custody of me up to Mom as long as they were within the legal terms of the judge’s ruling on my case. If I told him she’d already given me her approval, he wouldn’t fight me on leaving Florida for a few days. And he was just as eager to avoid conversations with her as she was reluctant to communicate with him.

I texted Violet before heading back inside and she replied almost instantly, saying she’d text me flight info. At six forty-five, when I returned to Mrs. Robinson’s room, I was dismayed to find the door locked. She and her daughter must have gone down to the dining hall together. This was a bummer. Not only was I prevented from requesting her advice, but I also wasn’t able to tell her I’d miss the next few days at work.

My manager wasn’t thrilled to hear that I was asking for time off so soon after beginning work. “The residents like you, McKenna, but this is only your second week with us. I can’t guarantee that your job will be open when you get back,” Luis told me. “I mean, this weekend is Easter. How am I supposed to find someone to fill your shifts?”

I swallowed hard, regretful that I was jeopardizing the one thing about life in Tampa that I genuinely enjoyed. But saving Mischa was my priority. It was imperative that I get back to Willow and deal with her before she started issuing death sentences. There was no option in the matter, especially if there was even the tiniest glimmer of a chance that we could save Amanda’s life.

Rhonda was listening to rap when she picked me up at the end of my shift, which reminded me of how much cooler she was than Dad.

“So. Wisconsin, huh?” she asked as we pulled out of the lot. Violet hadn’t wasted any time in booking my flight, which of course made me paranoid about her eagerness to have me back in town. She must have been really afraid that Mischa—or Henry—was going to hurt her.