Read Online Linger by Maggie Stiefvater - Free Book Online Page B

frying something?”
    So we finished making dinner. It seemed to take an agonizingly long time, knowing that Sam had something to say and knowing that he couldn’t say it in front of Rachel. And there was guilt mixed in as well, making the time drag. Olivia was Rachel’s friend, too. If she had known that Olivia might be coming back soon, she’d be over the moon and full of questions. I tried to avoid glancing at the clock; Rachel’s mom was picking her up at eight.
    â€œOh, hi, Rachel. Mmm, food.” My mother flowed through the kitchen, dropping her coat on one of the chairs by the wall as she did.
    â€œMom!” I said, not bothering to hide the surprise in my voice. “What are you doing home so early?”
    â€œIs there enough for me? I ate at the studio, but it wasn’t very filling,” Mom said. I had no doubt. Mom was an excellent food burner; ceaseless movement did a lot in the calorie-destruction department. She turned, saw Sam. Her voice changed to something knowing and not entirely pleasant. “Oh. Hi, Sam. Here again?”
    Sam’s cheeks reddened.
    â€œYou practically live here,” Mom went on. She turned and looked at me. Clearly it was supposed to convey some meaning, but it was lost on me. Sam, however, turned his face away from both of us as if it was clear enough to him.
    Once upon a time, Mom had really liked Sam. She’d even flirted with him in her mom way and asked him to sing and pose for a portrait. But that was back when he was just a boy that I was seeing. Now that it was clear that Sam was here to stay, Mom’s friendliness had evaporated and she and I communicated in the language of silence. The length of the pauses between sentences conveyed more information than the words within them.
    My jaw tightened. “Have some pasta, Mom. Are you working more tonight?”
    â€œDo you want me to get out of your way?” she asked. “I can go upstairs.” She tapped my head with her fork. “No need to shoot me dagger eyes, Grace. I get it. See you later, Rachel.”
    â€œI didn’t have dagger eyes,” I said after she left, going over to hang up her coat. Something about the entire exchange had left a sour taste in my mouth.
    â€œYou didn’t,” Sam agreed, his voice a bit mournful. “She has a guilty conscience.” His face was pensive, shoulders sagged, like he was carrying a weight he hadn’t been carrying that morning. All of a sudden I wondered if he ever doubted that he’d made the right decision — if it had been worth the risk. I wanted him to know that I thought it was. I wanted him to know I’d shout it from the rooftops. That was when I decided to confide in Rachel.
    â€œYou better go move your car,” I told Sam. He cast an anxious look toward the ceiling, as if Mom could read his thoughts through the floor of her home studio. Then toward Rachel. And then toward me, his unasked question clear in his expression: Are you really telling her? I shrugged.
    Rachel looked at me quizzically. I made a gesture like, Wait and I’ll explain , and Sam went to call up the stairs, “See you later, Mrs. Brisbane!”
    There was a long pause. Then Mom said, not in a nice way, “Bye.”
    Sam came back into the kitchen. He didn’t say that he felt guilty, but he didn’t have to. It was written all over his face. He said, a little hesitant, “If I’m not back by the time you go, Rach, see you later.”
    â€œBack!” Rachel said in surprise as Sam went out the front door, car keys jingling. “What does he mean ‘back’? What’s he doing with his car? Wait — has The Boy been sleeping here ?”
    â€œShhh!” I said hurriedly, with a glance toward the hallway. Taking Rachel by the elbow, I propelled her over toward the corner of the kitchen and released her quickly, looking at my fingers. “Whoa, Rachel, your skin is