“You have to get over,” she says. “It’s the next exit.”

—

“Put that away,” Scarlett says.

I’m vaping on the front steps and she’s in the doorway, wearing a long black robe. Honestly, it doesn’t look so different from her Halloween costume.

“It’s away,” I tell her.

She steps out and slowly lowers herself to sit next to me. I present the chocolate-covered gummy bears I got for her on the drive home from the airport.

“Thank you,” she says. “My favorite.”

“I don’t know how you eat those.”

“You’re missing out.”

This is the most she’s spoken to me since the hospital. I rest my head on her shoulder as she opens the bag and pops one of the bears into her mouth.

“You still love me?” I ask her.

“Yes, but much less than I used to.”

“Hey, I got you candy. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“You told me I ruined your life.”

“No, I didn’t,” I say, lifting my head. “I never said that.”

“You said you came here and now your life is over.” She doesn’t seem upset. She’s being very matter-of-fact.

“I’m sorry. I was angry,” I say. “I’m working on it. My anger.”

“That’s good.”

“But you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You weren’t truthful.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

She sighs. “Not now, okay? I’m not ready.”

“That’s even more cryptic. I don’t get it. I was honest with you about . . . you know, my whole deal. Why can’t you just tell me?”

She twists the bag closed. “Let’s go inside. It’s freezing.”

I help her up.

“I know you’re the one who fucked up Matty’s shoulder.”

I consider denying it.

“He didn’t tell me. He’s suddenly wearing a sling and wouldn’t say what happened. Seth told me.”

Have to say, newfound respect for Matty for not ratting me out.

“It was an accident,” I say. “I swear.”

“Okay.”

She drops onto the couch, puts her feet up on a pillow. I sit on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

“You’re really not going to tell me why you kicked him out?”

“Just . . . take it easy on him,” she says. “Please?”

“Seriously?”

“Let’s watch TV. Take this candy away or I’ll eat it all.”

I do as she asks.

“You want something to drink?” I call from the kitchen.

“No, I’m okay,” she says. “I’ve got water.”

I spot a note on the counter. It’s in Scarlett’s neat handwriting. My name is at the top. Then an address. A date. A time. Another name.

A doctor.

“Hey, what’s this note?” I ask.

“I made an appointment for you with the therapist I mentioned.”

“Why do you think I need to see a therapist?”

“Why do you think you’re a werewolf?”

“I am a werewolf.”

“Well,” she says, “that’s why you need to see a therapist.”

“Scarlett,” I say, stepping in front of the TV, “I showed you.”

“Listen, Rory, I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what’s going on with you. But you need to talk to someone. I wish I could be that person, but I’ve kind of got my uterus full.”