“Someone with the initials MM was helping Alice,” I said.“I found a note.Something about the old ways and stellar convergence.It was tucked into a seed catalogue on a page with a particular flower.One that’s in an unlabeled bucket in the flower shop cooler.I think they’re all connected, Owen.”
He was silent as he stared straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel.He turned down a tree-lined road that gave way to houses dotting the rolling grasses.
“MM,” he finally said, calm and careful.
There was something about the way he said it that gave me pause.Something that suggested he might know something.
“Do you know who that is?”
“Maybe.”He still wouldn’t look at me.“I don’t want to get your hopes up if I’m wrong.”
“Oh,” I said.And then pressed my lips together.
I peered out the windshield as he turned into a drive and went through an iron gate that was already open with a big initial M in the center of it.
The sprawling single-story ranch house fit against the landscape like it had always belonged there.The gabled roof stretched wide and low and the deep front porch ran nearly the entire length of the front of the house.A swing was on one end, drifting lazily in the faint breeze.Large windows on the front invited natural light into the home.Flower beds lined the front of the house with a riot of antique rosebushes—Mrs.McAllister’s pride and joy.
Mr.McAllister’s old pickup coated in red dirt was parked out front in the gravel drive.A four-door sedan next to it.
I knew where his parents lived, of course.But I had never been to the house.Most of my interaction with his parents had been at school functions like open house and PTA meetings.
But now that I was seeing it and he was parking, my mouth turned dry.
He put it in park and cut the engine and we sat there, neither of us moving.
“Piper, about my mother…” he started, turning to face me.His voice had that grave edge that made my stomach tighten.“She’s still fighting the cancer.”
My chest went tight.“Owen…”
“She’s in chemo,” he said.“So—she’s tired a lot.Some days are better than others.”His jaw flexed once.“And she lost her hair.”
“Oh.”I swallowed hard.“I didn’t know.”
“We haven’t exactly been… doing normal updates,” he said quietly.Then he looked at me, eyes steady.“Here’s what you need to know.”
I nodded, heart thudding.
“She hates pity,” he said.“If you ask how she’s doing, she’ll tell you.If she doesn’t bring it up, don’t make her talk about it.”A faint, humorless smile tugged at his mouth.“And don’t say ‘you look great’ like it’s a consolation prize.She’ll eat you alive.”
Despite myself, a tiny breath of laughter escaped.
“Follow her lead.Let her set the tone.”
I nodded again.“Okay.”
“And one more thing,” he said, softer.“If she offers you a hug, take it.If she doesn’t—don’t force one.She’s careful right now.”
“Got it,” I said.“I can do that.”
His shoulders loosened a fraction, like he’d been holding his breath.
“She’s going to love you,” he added.Then he glanced away, back toward the house.“She already does.She’s been asking about you.”
“She has?”That surprised me.I could count the times I’d met her in person on one hand.
He nodded.“Since you came back to town.”
Well, that wasn’t disconcerting at all.
