Unleaving by Melissa Ostrom

Author:Melissa Ostrom
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

12

MAGGIE PRACTICALLY RAN out of the bookstore. A thin snow fell. In the glow of the streetlamp, the flakes swirled like a cloud of gnats. She hurried down the sidewalk. The cold felt good on her face.

Bells jingled. “Maggie!” Sam called. “Wait up!” He strode out of the store, and the door swung shut with another peal of bells.

She waited for him by the curb. Snow settled on his dark hair and glistened on his high cheekbones. She looked away.

“Left my books on the counter. I’ll have to go back and buy them, but I thought I’d walk you to your car first.”

“Thanks.” She tried to smile. “That was nice.”

“You parked over there?” He jerked up his chin to indicate the municipal lot.

“Yeah.”

They crossed the street side by side. There was no traffic, but Maggie strode quickly anyway. She was anxious to get back to the cabin.

“So that’s your book club?” Sam asked when they reached the sidewalk.

She nodded.

“Your friends seem sweet. Colleen was sad you were leaving—said she thought you’d be going to see The Girl on the Train with them tonight.”

“Yeah. No.” Maggie clumsily shuffled her book and phone to her side so she could don the half of the coat she hadn’t put on yet.

“She invited me to go, too.” His smile was rueful. “I’m kind of sorry I showed up. Feel like I crashed your meeting and ruined your discussion.”

Just Marge. You just crashed and ruined Marge. She mumbled a nah-don’t-worry-about-it and dug the aunt’s keys out of her pocket, mentally listing the things she had to do: Get the hell out of here, talk to Wren, deal with Mom, figure out how to help Jane …

“Hey.” He ducked his head. “What’s wrong?”

She clutched the keys. Everything. Everything was wrong. Western New York was supposed to be her safe retreat—where she’d forget, hide, start over. It wasn’t supposed to be a fucking zoo. “Wren and my mom.” The words burst out of her, fast and loud. “They must have had a fight. Mom wants me to come home. She said something about…” Maggie shrugged, bewildered by her mother’s sobbed words, and finished questioningly, “About not trusting Wren?”

There. She sighed, relieved—no, intensely relieved. It had felt great to tell Sam, to share at least one of the messes in her life. The ache in her chest eased.

“Oh boy.” Sam turned a shuttered face toward the bookshop. Without glancing at Maggie, he asked, “She didn’t say why?”

Maggie frowned at his careful tone. “No.”

“And you haven’t”—he tugged at the cuff on one of his coat sleeves—“seen Wren’s sculpture?”

“Not yet.”

He ran his thumb over his jaw. “It’s not my place to talk about this.” His gaze, when he glanced at her again, was sad. “You need to discuss it with Wren.” He opened the truck door for her.

Confused, she automatically climbed in.

He took a step away from the truck but kept his hand on the door. After a moment of hesitation, he said with conviction, “But I can tell you one thing.

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