“You want her to ruin my life?”

“I mean about doing the right thing. It is the right thing … for her.” Maggie shrugged. “Probably for everyone.”

Mom’s laugh was shrill. “Since when is lying right?”

“Oh, Mom.” How to bring up what she’d realized from studying the photo albums? This was so difficult! “Are you sure she’s—”

Mom released a sob, threw the dishrag into the sink, and fled.

Maggie stared after her. “Well, that went well.” Exasperated, she slogged to the sink to finish the dishes, wrinkled her nose at the snowman painted across the platter, and ran his jovial snowball face under the spigot, muttering under her breath, “Everything sucks.”

The following morning, Maggie got dressed, packed her duffel bag, and headed downstairs early, hoping to smooth over the previous evening’s tension. Though she found her dad in the kitchen drinking his coffee, her mother had apparently left for work. Dumbfounded, she glanced at the clock over the sink. “It’s not even seven o’clock.”

Dad folded the newspaper. “Sorry, sweetheart. I wish she were here to see you off. She practically ran out of the house—said something about an early meeting.” His expression was troubled.

Maggie’s friends trudged into the kitchen, and her father greeted them, then leaned forward in his chair to pet Fluffster. “How about breakfast?” Dad asked. “I can zip over to Fitz’s and get us some pastries.”

“Thanks, but we need to hit the road.” Linnie and Caleb had done a really nice thing, coming with her, driving her here. But Linnie looked sick and exhausted. And Maggie wouldn’t ask Caleb to miss more classes and schoolwork. It was time to go.

Dad got to his feet and pulled Maggie into a hug. “I guess I’m picking you up this weekend?”

“No.”

“But your mom said—”

“I’m not coming back yet.” She squeezed her dad’s hand. “But I’d love for you guys to visit me at Wren’s.”

“That was the plan for Thanksgiving. Not certain how that will play out, with your mom in such a tizzy. Plus, your aunt … well, I’d rather you visit us here.”

She smiled a little. “You don’t have to be scared of Wren.”

“She’s scary,” he said simply, but softened the charge with a silly cringe of exaggerated fear. Then he said good-bye to Maggie’s friends, shook their hands, and—dead-seriously—warned Caleb, “Drive carefully, and mind the speed limit.”

“It’s you again.”

Maggie jumped. Her hand flew to her throat. “Holy crap, you startled me.”

The young woman who’d swung open the front door of the Cannons’ house nodded absently. She ran a fingertip over the edge of the envelope Maggie had just slipped through the mail slot. “I wondered if you’d come back.”

“Jane?”