“Hey kiddo,” he says, scooping a pancake onto a plate. “How’d you sleep?”
“Okay.” I grab a beanie hanging from a hook by the door and pull it on. “Naomi and Harper are almost here.”
“Are they hungry?”
“They want to get an early start at the market.”
Every Black Friday, Foggy Hollow hosts the Yuletide Market in town square. Since Twig isalways in Bedford, I go with Naomi and Harper. In my opinion, it’s the only acceptable way to Christmas shop. Last year, I found wool-lined work socks for Dad, an old-fashioned magnifying glass with a brass handle for Twig, a tea sampler for Maggie, a jam set for Mrs. Calloway, a gemstone bracelet for Naomi, and a berry-bliss candle for Harper. It’s a one-stop shop for all things thoughtful, and whatever items are left on the list can be taken care of with an after-market visit to The Lucky Penny.
I smile. “But I’ll take travel cakes to go.”
“Coming right up!”
A honk sounds outside.
He quickly spreads raspberry preserves between two pancakes, wraps it in a paper towel, and joins me at the door.
Outside, the morning is sunny and crisp.
Dad waves at Naomi, who sits behind the wheel of her Honda Accord, and Harper in the passenger seat. She rolls down her window to say hi and wave back.
“Be safe,” Dad says as I climb into the backseat with my pancake sandwich. “And stick together.”
As soon as the door is closed and the window is rolled up, I launch into the story. I tell them about the glowing plant yesterday morning, Rafe talking inside the Calloway’s radio right before ourThanksgiving feast, and the plan I devised while still at Twig’s.
“You let him out?” Naomi asks.
“I was going to give it a try, but he never showed up.”
“Wait,” Harper says. “Didn’t Rafe try to kill Lainey?”
“Rafe manipulated Lainey to open a rift.”
“And you were going to let him out?”
“I was hoping that if I helped him, he would help us.”
“Selah,” Naomi says on a sigh.
I know what she’s thinking.
I was being naive.
A foolish, wishful thinker.
She’s probably right, but it doesn’t matter now anyway, because my foolish plan failed. And nearly killed me in the process. I set my pancake sandwich on my knee and tell them the rest while rolling up my sleeve and unraveling the bandage.
Naomi peeks in her rearview mirror while Harper twists in her seat. I expect them to gasp. Or at the very least, look concerned. But they just stare blankly at my mangled arm like they don’t see anything alarming at all.
“What are you showing us?” Harper asks. “Why was your arm wrapped?”
Naomi stops at a traffic light and turns around, too.
I look at them both in turn. “You don’t see this?”
“See what?” Naomi asks.
“The wounds,” I say back, lifting my arm higher.
