MAGGIE HAD TEXTED her parents after she and her friends left the Cannons’, and when they reached the house, supper was ready and waiting for them. Dad had ordered an enormous pizza and three dozen wings, and he’d picked up cupcakes from Fitz’s Bakery, too. He beamed when he presented the dessert, arranged on Mom’s Christmas-themed platter. “My Maggie loves Fitz’s cupcakes.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Maggie said, touched but also embarrassed. Her parents had a real knack for making her feel like she was ten years old.

Unfortunately, his efforts to create a festive mood fell flat. Nobody had much to say at the dinner table. Maggie, reluctant to bring up Jane, was vague about how she and her friends had spent their afternoon. Linnie didn’t help. Distant and dreary, she picked at her meal and then excused herself from the table without finishing her slice of pizza, mumbling something about not feeling well and calling it a night. Caleb still seemed nervous around Maggie’s dad. And though Mom popped a question here and there, her preoccupied expression made it plain she wasn’t paying attention to anyone’s answers.

Poor Dad just looked confused.

After dinner, Mom waved away Caleb’s offer to help clean up, so he took Fluffster outside for a walk. She shooed Dad, too. “Maggie can help,” she said tersely.

“Okay…?” With a bewildered frown, Dad tugged the sports page out of the newspaper and escaped into the living room.

While Mom rinsed the plates for the dishwasher, Maggie wrapped up the leftovers and thought about how she’d be leaving for Wren’s in the morning—without having seen or talked to Jane. And then there was Linnie, refusing to stop by her old neighborhood to collect the letter …

The letter.

Maybe Maggie should write one. She and her friends could swing by the Cannons’ place once more on their way back to Wren’s, and Maggie could slip the letter into the mail slot. And if that didn’t get Jane to contact her, well then, Maggie would just have to make her peace with the situation.

“It’s all set,” Mom whispered.

She glanced up. “What is?”

“Shh.” Standing at the sink, her mother slipped the platter into the sudsy water and peeked over her shoulder toward the dining room. “This Saturday. Your dad will pick you up. He doesn’t need to know why. I just told him things weren’t working out with Wren. We’ll get you squared away.” She scrubbed the frosting off the platter with unnecessary force. “And then we’ll have to pray for the best—with my sister, I mean. I keep hoping we’ll work through this mess.” She drew a shaky breath and continued mournfully, “If only she’d do the right thing and think twice about ruining everyone’s lives with her awful art show.”

“I can’t agree with you on that one…”