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“Oh.” I pretend to reconsider the tacky frame with gemstones carved to look like hearts. “Actually ...”
Logan throws up his hands. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal. We return this and put the cash in the honeymoon fund.”
“Deal,” Tanya says, extending a hand to shake.
Instead of shaking her hand, Logan lifts her knuckles to his lips. I turn away, and my gaze snags on the tub of mint–chocolate chip ice cream melting on the coffee table. Memories tumble forward, and a lump climbs my throat as my stomach sinks. The simultaneous rising and falling makes my head spin.
Tanya notes the focus of my attention. “Sorry about the ice cream. I’ll buy more next time I’m in the store. This tub was going bad soon anyway.”
I fight against the knot in my throat to force out the words. “Of course. Don’t worry about it.”
Tanya looks pained. The edges of her voice soften with tenderness. “I really am sorry, Hope. I thought I’d have a chance to run to the store before you got home.”
Home.
The word sounds like a mirage, the way it did when I was ten and spent more nights at Brandon’s house than mine to avoid my parents’ arguing.
“It’s really not a big deal.” I brighten my voice and will my thoughts away from the direction they’re heading. “I need a favor, actually.”
Logan’s spine straightens. “Everything okay?”
“Tessa asked me to plan Noah’s surprise party. He’s into the local music scene, and I thought, since you two just planned a wedding, you might have some suggestions.”
“Oh, totally.” Logan ticks off some of the bands whose posters hang at the Friendly Bean. “Oh, Ian Summers’s new band, obviously. If you can get him. We heard him sing at Maeve’s a few weeks ago. His voice is insane.”
The name sends a jolt through me. “You went to Maeve’s? For one of those midnight meditations?”
“Once with Bailey.” Tanya glances guiltily at Logan for confirmation.
“What happens? I assume she’s not casting spells and sacrificing baby bunnies.” Other rumors I heard over the past few days included naked dancing, summoning water demons, and performing blood rituals. Tessa was right—literally everyone is talking about Maeve. Somehow I was too caught up in my own world to hear it, until now.
Logan scoffs. “No. Some chanting. Sometimes she’ll hand out little packets of leaves and tell people it’ll help with aches. I think she gave Tanya an amethyst crystal.” Logan’s gaze slides to Tanya.
“To help calm my mind during wedding planning,” Tanya says, standing up straighter. She holds Logan’s gaze and raises an eyebrow. “She does more than packets of leaves and crystals.”
“Like what?”
Logan swallows. “Nothing really. On full moons, she does a thing with flowers and then pretends to commune with spirits. Or something. We—I—didn’t want to tell you after ... everything that happened with ...”
“Yeah, I get it.” Heat pools in my cheeks as my thoughts turn to the medium I went to see last summer in New York City. She’d come highly recommended on grief message boards. Thousands of dollars later, all I had was a mortgage I couldn’t afford on a single income for a house Brandon and I had bought with the entirety of both our savings, and a disconnected number saved in my phone for a woman who made promises she couldn’t keep. “What was it like?”
They exchange a private look.
“Don’t worry. I’m not planning to go. I promised Tessa no more mediums.” Promising to stay away from mediums, psychics, and tarot-card readers was easy while in the throes of a shame spiral with the Manhattan skyline in our rearview. Keeping the promise has been mostly easy too.
Only two slips. Once, at a carnival—something about the old woman in medieval costume sparked hope. Probably because I’d just finished readingThe Night Circus. And once because a medium who’d been featured in a Netflix documentary was in Newport. Neither asked me for money, besides the agreed-upon rate. Neither actually connected with Brandon either.
They told me he loved me, he missed me, he was always with me. But the things I needed to know remained unsaid.
“Logan,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him the way his mother used to when he’d talk back to her. “Tell me.”
“It was strange, mostly,” Logan says, relenting. “She made it seem like Bailey’s grandmother was with us, or something. She told Bailey togo to art school. Bailey ate it all up too. I’m sure you heard she broke off her engagement?”
“It’s the right thing for Bailey. She’s been unhappy for a long time,” Tanya pipes in, adding the frustrated sigh of someone who’s tired of defending her friend’s choices to people who have no business passing judgment. “Also, she said Bailey’s grandmother would send a sign in the form of a feather—you saw the feather Bailey posted on Facebook. It landed on her acceptance letter.”
Hope flickers in the pit of my stomach. It’s quickly tamped down when Logan turns his stony expression from Tanya to me.
“Please. It was a coincidence. That’s it.”
