That was the leg with the massive scar I’d seen briefly the day before midterms.

YOU OK? I signed to Beau when he glanced up from his copy of Beowulf.

He signed back, YES, way too quickly, but I wasn’t buying his answer.

Promising myself I’d get to the bottom of this soon was a lot easier than everything else had felt lately.

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

I sat on the floor behind the kitchen table with Connor, his face squished against the back door as he watched the snow falling outside. Really, he should’ve been resting after his breathing treatment, but the second I’d signed, SNOW, he’d looked like he was about to burst with excitement and he rolled off the couch with more energy than I expected from him.

This wasn’t the first snowfall he’d ever seen, but this snow in Colorado looked a little different from snow in New Jersey. The porch light was on, illuminating the backyard in a gentle glow. The more snow that began to cover the ground, the more sparkles came dancing off the snow in the light.

“Can . . . go outside?” Connor asked me, tapping a finger on the back door.

“Not a chance,” I answered. “Let’s just enjoy it from here.”

Connor’s face twisted down in a pout, but he was back to looking enchanted by the snow a few seconds later.

I felt footsteps from where I sat on the floor by the back door and knew it could only be Mom coming toward us. When I moved myself around to get to my feet, she came walking into the kitchen with a couple grocery bags in both arms, and there was an unbelievably happy smile on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I said suspiciously, grabbing two grocery bags from her. “Why do you look like that?”

Mom couldn’t sign with the way her hands were occupied, so I leaned in to watch her say, “. . . have mail.”

Mail?

I hoped whatever was in the grocery bags I took from Mom wasn’t breakable because I dropped them and snatched at the pile of mail tucked up under her arm. I went straight for the largest envelope, tossing the rest of the mail on the nearby counter. I think I gave a sob when I saw Cartwright’s crest on the envelope, addressed to Maya N. Harris.

“Open . . . !” Mom said, rocking back on her heels with her hands clasped before her after she set her grocery bags down.

My fingers were trembling while I attempted to tear open the envelope as neatly as possible. Mom came closer to peer over my shoulder, and even Connor joined us as I carefully pulled out the first sheet of paper in the envelope. The words seemed to dance across the page, making it difficult to comprehend.

A slow minute passed before the words fell into place.