Page 39 of Wretched Thorns

Behind them, the other woman got into the dead truck.

Dex put the new one in gear and pulled out. The other one peeled off at the first exit. Tara watched the side mirror until the dead truck was gone.

Dex didn’t say anything.

She let it sit for two miles.

Then: “Who was that.”

“Mel.”

“Mel.”

“Mm.”

“Mel from where, exactly.”

“From Magnolia Creek. She runs The Daily Grind in town. She was at Thornwood before any of us were old enough to know she was at Thornwood.”

“Ah.”

“Mm.”

“Right.”

“Mm.”

He glanced over at her. Just a flick. His mouth was doing the corner thing again, slower this time, and his eyes were a color of gold that had no business being in the cab of a truck on a quiet stretch of state highway.

She stared at him.

“You are the most annoying…”

“Mm.”

“…disrespectful, condescending…”

“Mm.”

“Dex.”

“Chère.”

“I swear to God if you call me that one more time on this drive I am going to throw you out of this truck.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

She turned her face to the window so he wouldn’t see what her mouth was doing.

From the back seat, a sound that might have been a cough.

It was a laugh.

Mère, do not.

Grandmère did not, and yet she absolutely did.

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