Page 78 of The Cul-de-Sac War

But now . . .

Bree cleared her throat as she pushed open the door and walked onstage. She stopped dead center, holding her backpack on one shoulder as she looked out over the auditorium. The lights were low. The room empty. A single spotlight still fell directly where she stood. Where she was bound to stand for the last time.

On this stage.

Soon enough, in Nana’s house.

She imagined spending the rest of her life bouncing from job to job, home to home. Driving by Nana’s house sometimes just to see if the red-and-green-striped bathroom wallpaper she’d helped Nana hang that day had been painted over, or if the creaky wood porch swing had been replaced with something shiny and metal. Exactly how long would it take to tear down a thousand memories that were the foundation of her childhood, the foundation of her very being?

If only she had walked in earlier that morning to check on Nana. Maybe if she hadn’t slept in . . .

Would it have made a difference?

Bree felt her throat burn and gulped down the sizzling pain.

She tucked the thoughts away and dropped down off the side stairs, strode up the aisle, and, without looking back, pushed her way into the foyer.

“Ah, the woman of the hour!” Dan’s voice boomed as she emerged. “Here’s our star.”

Dan stood beside her mother, whose arms were full with the largest bouquet Bree had ever seen.

“Thank you!”

Bree inhaled the flowers’ scent as she and her parents exchanged hugs and stepped outside.

“Where’s Chip?” she said warily, feeling at least some of her tension release. Maybe he had just come to the play. Maybe he had thought taunting her with a sign was enough for one day.

“Right here,” Chip said, slipping his phone into his pocket as he rounded the corner. There was a hardness to his brow Bree recognized at once—his Work Brow, she liked to think of it—but no sooner had she seen it than it dissolved.

His brown eyes caught hers and he smiled, as though remembering how much fun this was going to be. “Your parents said you settled on Bone Fire. If that’s still where you want to go.”

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t sit in a restaurant across from this man, this wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“We skipped lunch, actually, when we got caught in traffic,” her mother supplied, a smile on her face. “So we’re starving! Whatever you pick, we’re game for! The night is all about you!”

Bree fought the cold, hard lump in her throat trying to block her from speaking.

Actually, I just want to go home.

Actually, I just need to lie down.

Actually, if Chip stands there one more second beside you guys, smiling at me like we’re in a Hallmark movie, I’m going to bring out the claws.

“Bone Fire is perfect,” Bree said, fastening a smile on her lips. “Let’s walk.”

Five minutes later, the four of them were directed toward the only empty booth in the restaurant. The bar stood a few feet across from them, and a band was setting up beside them, the banjo player hitting a string and turning the tuning key as he went. The air was heavy and thick with barbeque sauce slathered over smoking pork.

“Mom, you can sit by me—”

“Nonsense,” Chip said, looking toward her parents. “You two lovebirds stick together.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet,” her mother said, just as Chip dropped into the booth and sat on Bree.

The scents of cedar and pine overwhelmed her—not unpleasantly—and she exhaled sharply under his weight and moved to her side.

“Sorry, thought you’d already scooted over,” he said, smiling as he tugged on the red scarf overlaying his black sweater.

She squinted, knowing exactly the last time he wore that ridiculous thing and exactly how many times he had scratched at it in front of Theo and Mr. Richardson like a man on the edge of sanity. When she glanced at her parents, they were looking at the two of them like he had just called them the lovebirds.