Maggie shook her head. She honestly didn’t. Mom had bought her the book in Allenport—not that Maggie had any intention of reading it for this girl’s club. She’d just been wanting to read it, period. For myself, by myself, without anyone bothering me. And then with a pang: So I’m sorry, Jane Cannon. But no.

A silver-haired gentleman creaked up to the counter. Ran grinned at him. “Hello, Mr. Holley. Be with you in a second.” To Maggie, she said, “Thanks for dropping off Carina’s check, Marge.” She dismissed her with a waggle of fingers. “See you in a couple of weeks.”

Maggie murmured something vague and hurried for the door. Behind her, she heard the older man say, “Marge. Now that’s a pretty name.”

“Are you saying Ran isn’t pretty, Mr. Holley?” the clerk teased.

“Oh, heavens, no. Ran’s very nice. A good name for a quick girl like you.”

5

MAGGIE FELL ASLEEP late Friday night, slept poorly, and woke to the sound of rain and the agonizing thought, Why the hell did Jane Cannon have to contact me?

She rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. If only that girl had reached out to a friend, family member, professor … I’m a perfect stranger, for Christ’s sake.

She crawled out of bed, went downstairs, and slogged into the kitchen. Aunt Wren was there, pouring a cup of coffee. She must have been up for a while. Clay streaked her clothes.

“Morning, Margaret.” She took a hasty sip and smiled apologetically. “I’ll be MIA today. Have to catch up on an order, then head out for a one o’clock guild meeting.” She patted Maggie’s arm and crossed the kitchen, taking her coffee with her. “Just pop in the studio if you need me.”

“Okay.” After her aunt left, Maggie drank her coffee in front of the rain-smeared window and worried about the email. It was two weeks old. Probably by now, Jane had gone to someone else for help, like her RA. Yeah, her RA. That makes much better sense. I’m getting myself worked up over nothing. Maggie set down the mug and looked around the empty kitchen. A distraction. She needed a distraction. Maybe the aunt had something in the studio she could do, a chore to keep her busy. She almost went to ask Wren but decided against it. The studio was the aunt’s workplace. She didn’t need her niece hanging out in there.

After eating some toast, Maggie trudged upstairs. Besides, it’s not like I’m a social worker or a counselor. Jane needs a professional. I can’t help her. I wouldn’t even know how to help her. Christ!