Later, Maggie drifted outside. The sun, which hadn’t bothered to show up all day, made a belated appearance in the evening—a beautiful entrance, swollen and sinking in a pool of pink and violet. Now it rested, like a golden fruit, on the end of the rocky bluff.

A wind unfurled off the lake and made her shiver. Drawing the cardigan more tightly across her chest, she considered what Sam had mentioned about Devil’s Tongue and then thought about what her aunt had said before that—about Linnie, about Maggie …

Strong. It was nice that anyone would see her in that way.

She just didn’t think it was true. How could it be? Her mind was falling apart. Falling back … whenever and wherever. She couldn’t keep her head on straight.

Plus, if Maggie were really strong, she wouldn’t leave Jane Cannon hanging. She’d write back and help her. Even if the helping hurt.

But she didn’t.

Dread kept her away from her phone. It kept her up most of the night, too.

On Monday morning, she ignored her exhaustion and threw herself into another cleaning frenzy. Starting at the top of the cabin, she scrubbed the windows; took down light fixtures, giving them a good washing before refastening them to the sockets; and did not think about Jane Cannon. She wasn’t up to worrying about the girl. I just can’t get into that shit right now. Maybe she’d be ready eventually. At some point. But not today. Sorry, Jane.

She reached her last room, the kitchen, by midafternoon, and got to work, just as Sam’s truck roared out of the driveway.

The aunt was in there, sipping a cup of coffee. “He’s picking up Kate from school,” she explained.

“His truck’s fixed?” Maggie had spotted it first thing this morning, parked in its usual location behind the cabin.

Wren nodded, smiling wryly at the bucket of cleaning supplies and rags. “I can always tell when you’re trying to avoid something. You start cleaning like crazy.” Her smile widened when she took in Maggie’s expression. “Am I right?”

She answered with a noncommittal sniff and stepped onto a chair to reach the pendant light over the table.

“Thought so,” the aunt murmured.

“I didn’t confirm your theory.”

“No need.” Wren sauntered out of the room.

She made a face and began to loosen the little screws. A layer of furry grime covered the glass shade. “Your fixtures are disgustingly dirty,” she said loudly.

The aunt’s laugh drifted in from the hallway.

Later in the day, while Maggie and Wren were finishing supper, Sam returned to the cabin, Kate in tow. “She said she missed you,” he told Wren.

“But not her.” His daughter pointed at Maggie.

“Kate,” Sam scolded. “Be nice. She’s nice to you.”

The girl shrugged. “But she’s not my mother,” she declared warningly.