Read Online Linger by Maggie Stiefvater - Free Book Online

answered?”
    Dad: “I feel like I have to hold a gun to her head to get her to speak to me.”
    Me: “Is that an option?”
    Now they were both glaring at me. I didn’t really need to add lines to the Culpeper Show; it was self-sustaining without me and played reruns all night.
    â€œI told you she shouldn’t go to public school,” my father told my mother. I knew where this was going. Mom’s next line was “I told you we shouldn’t come to Mercy Falls,” and then Dad would start throwing stuff, and eventually they would end up in separate rooms, enjoying different brands of alcoholic beverages.
    â€œI have homework,” I interrupted. “I’m going upstairs. See you next week.”
    As I turned to go, Dad said, “Isabel, wait.”
    I waited.
    â€œJerry told me you were hanging out with Lewis Brisbane’s daughter. Is that true?”
    Now I turned, to see what his expression was. His arms crossed, he leaned against the colorless counter, his shirt and tie still perfectly unwrinkled, one eyebrow raised in his narrow face. I raised mine to match. “What about it?”
    â€œDon’t take that tone with me,” Dad said. “I just asked a question.”
    â€œThen fine. Yes. I hang out with Grace.”
    I could see a vein stand out on one of his arms as he closed his hands into fists and opened them again, over and over. “I hear that she has a lot to do with the wolves.”
    I made a little gesture in the air like, What are you talking about?
    â€œRumor is she feeds them. I’ve been seeing them around here a lot,” he said. “Looking suspiciously well cared for. I’m thinking it’s time to do some more thinning.”
    For a moment we just looked at each other. Me trying to decide if he knew I’d been feeding them and was doing his passive-aggressive thing to get me to say something, and him trying to stare me down.
    â€œYeah, Dad,” I said, finally. “You should go shoot some animals. That’ll bring Jack back. Good idea. Should I tell Grace to lure them closer to the house?”
    My mother stared at me, a frozen piece of art: Portrait of a Woman With Chardonnay . My father looked like he wanted to hit me.
    â€œAre we done?” I asked.
    â€œOh, I’m getting very close to done,” my father said. He turned and gave my mother a meaningful look, which she didn’tsee because she was too busy filling her eyes with tears that had yet to fall.
    I thought my part in this particular episode was definitely over, so I left them behind in the kitchen. I heard my dad say, “I’m going to kill all of them.” And my mother said, voice full of tears, “Whatever, Tom.”
    The end. I probably needed to stop feeding the wolves.
    The closer they got, the more dangerous it was for all of us.

• GRACE •
    By the time Sam got home, Rachel and I had been attempting to make chicken parmesan for a half hour. Rachel lacked the concentration to bread the chicken pieces, so I had her stirring the tomato sauce while I dredged an endless number of chicken parts through egg and then through breadcrumbs. I pretended to be annoyed, but really the repetitive action had a kind of relaxing effect, and there was a subtle pleasure in the tactile elements: the viscous swirling of the brilliantly yellow egg over the chicken, then the soft shush of the breadcrumbs rubbing against one another as they moved out of the chicken’s way.
    If only I didn’t have this persistent headache. Still, the process of making dinner and having Rachel over was doing a pretty good job of making me forget about both my headache and the fact that it had gotten winter dark outside, the chill pressing in against the window above the sink, and Sam was still not here. I kept repeating the same mantra over and over in my head. He won’t change. He’s cured. It’s over.
    Rachel bumped her hip against