Everything We Didn't Say(11)

A poor excuse for a mother, to be sure, but Willa had grown in the space beneath her heart, had been ushered into this world by the soundtrack of her mother’s body. That had to count for something.

Juniper dragged herself to the library just before eight, burdened by thoughts of her broken family and aching in the place where her back was beginning to knot. It was a dull but persistent reminder that nothing was okay.

“That bad?” Cora said in greeting when Juniper leaned against the doorframe to her cluttered office.

“That obvious?”

Cora gave her a wry smile in response. “Willa?”

“I didn’t even get to see her. She wouldn’t come down.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” Cora was seated at her desk, face bluish in the cast of light from her computer monitor. She started to get up—ostensibly to offer a hug or some other form of tangible comfort—but Juniper shook her head, and Cora settled back with a heavy exhale.

“Stay put,” Juniper insisted. “I’m fine. Or, I will be. I knew it wouldn’t be easy—at least not at first. I haven’t been a part of Willa’s life for a very long time.”

“She’ll come around.”

Juniper wasn’t so sure about that. There was no reason for Willa to love her or trust her. “She hardly knows me. And let’s face it, Cora, I’m not exactly mother material.”

“So change that. Surprise her.”

Juniper shrugged.

The sound of the double front door opening made them both glance toward the library floor. A cold gust of air followed the telltale squeak of rusty hinges, and Juniper called over her shoulder, “We open at nine!”

“Esther Harrison sometimes likes to stop in on her way to Cunningham’s for coffee in the morning,” Cora said.

“And you let her?”

It was Cora’s turn to shrug.

“You’re getting soft,” Juniper teased. “I’ll take care of her. What am I looking for?”

“Short stories, anything postwar. Think 1950s John Cheever, not Jack Kerouac.”

“Got it.” Juniper slipped out of the office, pulling the door closed behind her. Cathedral, she decided as she wove past the circulation desk and made her way toward the front door. If Mrs. Harrison was willing to branch out a bit, Raymond Carver might be a good fit. Subtle optimism, a sad flicker of hope. Maybe it would be just what she needed.

But it wasn’t an elderly woman stomping snow off her boots just inside the door. “Mandy! What are you doing here?” Juniper couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Hey, June.” The younger woman forced a fleeting smile, and then surveyed the growing pool of dirty ice water beneath her feet with dismay. Her dark curls were crammed under a pink stocking cap with a jaunty pom—essential Mandy—but her eyes were downcast, her bottom lip snagged between her teeth. Gone was the happy girl from the night before.

When Mandy didn’t say anything more, Juniper filled the awkward silence. “Are you looking for a book?”

“I’m looking for you.”

“Okay…” Juniper felt something dark crawl between them, but she flicked it off.

“Look, I know Jonathan wants to talk to you,” Mandy said quickly, “and I know that you’re not just here for Cora.”

Juniper glanced over her shoulder, but it wasn’t as if this would be news to Cora. She knew Juniper’s reasons were complicated. “It was time,” she agreed, giving nothing else away. She had told Law and Reb that she wanted to be a more involved mother, but she hadn’t admitted that she wanted Willa to move back to Colorado with her. No doubt they suspected as much.

“You want to be a bigger part of Willa’s life, and we all get that, really we do.” Mandy seemed to read her mind. “Even Reb.”

“But?”

“But your timing is…” Mandy cast around as if she expected the right word to materialize out of the books around her. She settled on: “Uncanny. Things have been happening, June.”

The library grew very small, the air delicate as spun glass. Juniper hardly dared to move, but she managed: “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Our car was keyed, for one. At first I thought it was just some punk teens with nothing better to do. But then our mailbox was destroyed a couple of weeks ago, and someone keeps calling the landline and then hanging up. The boys think it’s funny, but…” Mandy shrugged unconvincingly.

Juniper was still struggling to breathe in the fragile, airless room. “What else?” she croaked.

“Footprints in the snow around our house. Headlights in our window late at night. Jonathan keeps telling me it’s nothing, but I don’t believe him.”

“Do Law and Reb know?”

Mandy looked affronted. “We don’t want to worry them.”

Thinking about their family dinner the night before and the perfectly normal way Mandy had behaved, Juniper wasn’t surprised that her brother and his wife managed to keep this from their parents. Clearly, she was an excellent actor.

A thought popped into Juniper’s head. “Has anyone tried to interview you? Or Jonathan? About what happened back then?”

Mandy’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”