Page 31 of Taking Turns

Will she go about her business and ignore me?

Or will she answer the door?

Just as I get to that last option, she decides.

“What?” she says, peeking through a crack in the door.

“I’d just like to apologize for Smith’s actions last night.”

“Did he tell you everything he did?” She’s still very angry about it. “Because I’d like to know just how deeply disturbed he really is so I know how to react.”

“He told me he’s sorry.”

“Did he?” Marcella asks, unbelieving. “Then why are you here apologizing instead of him?”

“May I come in, Miss Walcott? It’s like ten degrees out here.”

She looks me up and down real fast, then opens the door and says, “Briefly.”

“Yes,” I say, stepping past her and into the warm house. “I’ll keep it short.” She’s cooking dinner, I realize. Something smells good.

I turn to her, but she pushes past me and says, “Excuse me. I have to check my food before it burns.”

Even though she didn’t invite me to follow her back into the kitchen, I do. I take off my leather gloves and set them down on the granite island with my car keys. “Smells good. What are you making?”

Marcella reaches for a remote and turns the music down so we can have a conversation. “Chicken pot pie,” she says, opening the oven. She peers in, gabs a pot holder, and then pulls out a single chicken pot pie.

“It’s frozen?”

She laughs. “No.” But her answer is terse. Like I offended her.

“You make them yourself?”

Marcella sets the cooking sheet on a trivet and turns around. “What do you want?”

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“He broke into my—”

“I’m sorry Smith did that. He’s impulsive. But he had a reason.”

“I’m sure he did,” she says.

“Technically, Miss Walcott, you kinda broke into our house too. Right?”

Her spine stiffens and her chin lifts up. “Rochelle invited me up.”

“Right,” I say, drawing in a deep breath and then letting it out. “That’s the other reason I’m here. You see, Quin—”

“I don’t know where she is. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. If she wanted you guys to know where she went and what she was doing, she’d have left a note.”

“OK. That’s fine. I accept that. All we need to know is if she’s all right. That’s it. Was she stressed out?”

Marcella thinks about this for a moment and then says, “Yes. I’d call her stressed out.”

“Do you think she was afraid?”

More thoughtful consideration from Marcella. “I don’t know if I’d call it afraid. But she was crying when we talked that afternoon.”