“How do you do that?” Shannen asks. “Separate them, I mean.”
“Daddy gave me the power to perform the ritual.” I tug at the seat belt where it rubs against my neck. “Al I have to do is say the magic words and get the happy couple to sign the separation papers.”
“No big, then.”
“Nope,” I agree. “No big.”
As we drive the few blocks from school to my house in silence, I keep thinking about the next thing on my list of worries. Making up with Quince. This isn’t our first fight—
heck, we’ve been fighting since long before we started going out—but this one feels more real. More significant. I don’t want it to linger any longer than necessary.
“How about lunch tomorrow?” Shannen asks, pul ing her car to a stop at the end of my sidewalk. “Before you head home for your birthday celebration.”
“Sure,” I say, unbuckling and opening the door. “Sounds great.”
“I’l come by around one to pick you up.”
“Perfect.”
I wave good-bye as Shannen pul s away from the curb.
When I push open the kitchen door, the house is eerily quiet. With four people living in our house right now, there’s usual y at least some sign of another occupant.
“Aunt Rachel?” I cal out. “Doe? Tel in?” When I get no response, I wonder if every living creature in the house has disappeared. “Prithi?”
At that I get a reassuring meow.
There are no signs of life in the kitchen, so I head into the living room. It looks more deserted than usual. Not that Tel in brought any belongings with him, but it feels like he’s moved out. My suspicion is confirmed when I read the note he left on the coffee table.
See you at your birthday ball.
Wel , that’s one worry off my shoulders for the moment.
Next I head upstairs to hunt for Doe. She must know that we have to perform the separation tonight, so why would she disappear like this? Clearly she has, though. She’s not anywhere in the house, as evidenced by the fact that Prithi is trailing my every step.
It’s late afternoon already. In a few hours it wil be too late.
I grab the upstairs phone—the one I’m usual y dropping in the bathwater—and dial Brody’s home number.
“This is Lily Sanderson,” I say when his mom answers the phone. “Is Brody home?”
“No, dear,” she says. “I think he went out with your cousin.”
“Did he say where?”
“Not specifical y,” she says, “but he took towels and his swim trunks. Maybe the pool?”
Unlikely. Doe shares my merfolk al ergy to chlorine. My guess is they’ve headed to the beach. Why, I don’t know, because it’s not like Doe can fol ow him under the ocean.
But it’s salt water. And they both see it as home.
“Okay, I’l try there,” I tel Mrs. Bennett. “Thanks.” Great. Now I have to find a way to the beach. I guess that makes this as good a time as ever to talk with Quince—to make up and to get transportation. I grab the separation papers from my room and shove them into my back pocket before heading out. As I crunch across the gravel driveway separating our houses, I mental y compose what I’l say to him. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. But it’s my decision and I love you. I could never leave.” By the time I stomp up his front steps I think I’ve got my speech set. I knock on the big white door and wait. As the door swings open, I paste an apologetic smile on my face and start to say, “I’m s—”
“Hel o, Lily,” Quince’s mom says.
“Mrs. Fletcher?” I guess I’m just surprised to find her answering the door. It seems like she’s always at work or sleeping—she pul s the night shift at the factory, so she sleeps during the day.
“Janet,” she says, offering me a haggard smile. “Please, cal me Janet.”
I nod, but can’t bring myself to cal her by her first name. “Is Quince home?”
Her thin, aged-beyond-her-years face transforms into a frown. “He didn’t tel you?”
A bad feeling thumps into my stomach like a punch in the gut. “Tel me what?”
“He left.” She braces an arm against the doorjamb, as if she needs the support. “Took off up the coast last night.” She shakes her head sadly. “Probably to visit his father.”
“Oh.” That’s al I can manage to say around the tear-clogged lump in my throat.
“I thought he would have told you.”
My eyes are watering faster than I can blink the tears away. “We’re kind of having a fight,” I explain. “I didn’t tel him something and he… he’s pretty angry.”
“You weren’t—” She pauses, like she has to figure out the best way to say something. “Unfaithful?”
“No!” I hurry to explain. “Nothing like that. Never.”
“Then you shouldn’t worry.” Her haggard face softens as she smiles. “My son may have a hot temper from time to time, but if you haven’t violated his code of loyalty, then everything wil be fine once he cools off.”
“I hope so.” I’m not so sure, but I definitely hope so.
“He loves you,” she says plainly. “For him, that’s everything.”
I don’t have any choice but to believe her. That’s how I feel, too, so I have to believe that’s how Quince feels.