Liar. “All right. ’Bye.”

“I love you, Rachel,” he whispered, but I hung up as if I hadn’t heard. I didn’t know if I could answer him anymore. Miserable, I pulled my hand from the receiver. My red nail polish looked bright against the black plastic. My fingers were trembling and my head hurt.

“Then why did you leave instead of telling me what’s wrong?” I asked the empty room.

I exhaled with a measured slowness to try to wash the tension from me. I was going shopping with Ivy. I wouldn’t ruin it by brooding about Nick. He was gone. He wasn’t coming back. He felt better when he was a time zone away from me; why would he come back?

Hitching my bag higher up my shoulder, I headed for the front. The pixies were still clustered at the windows in small knots. Jenks was somewhere else, for which I was grateful. He’d only tell me “I told you so” if he had heard my conversation with Nick.

“Jenks! You have command of the ship!” I shouted as I opened the front door, and a smile, faint but real, crossed me when a piercing whistle emanated from my desk.

Ivy was in the car already, and my eyes were drawn across the street to Keasley’s house, pulled by the sound of kids and a dog barking. My steps slowed. Ceri was in his yard, wearing the jeans I had dropped off earlier and an old coat of Ivy’s. Bright red mittens and a matching hat made a vivid splash against the snow as she and about six kids ranging from ten to eighteen rolled snowballs around. A mountain was taking shape in the corner of Keasley’s small lot. Next door were four more kids doing the same. It looked like there was going to be a snowball fight before too much longer.

I waved to Ceri, then Keasley—who was standing on his porch watching with an intent hunch that told me he’d like to be down there, too. Both of them waved back, and I felt warm. I’d done something good.

I lifted the door latch of Ivy’s borrowed Mercedes, slipping in to find it still blowing cold air from the vents. It took forever for the big four-door sedan to warm up. I knew Ivy didn’t like driving it, but her mother wouldn’t lend her anything else and a cycle in slush was asking for stitches. “Who was it?” Ivy asked as I angled the vent off me and buckled myself in. Ivy drove as if she couldn’t be killed, which I thought was a little ironic.

“Nobody.”

She gave me a telling look. “Nick?”

Lips pressed together, I set my bag on my lap. “Like I said, nobody.”

Not looking behind her. Ivy pulled away from the curb. “Rachel, I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in her gray silk voice pulled my head up. “I thought you hated Nick.”

“I do,” she said, not at all apologetic. “I think he’s manipulative and withholds information that might get you hurt. But you liked him. Maybe …” She hesitated, her jaw tightening and relaxing. “Maybe he’s coming back. He does … love you.” She made an ugly sound. “Oh God, you made me say it.”