Mel dried a plate and added it to the stack in the cupboard. Her feet hurt from working all day, but her heart hurt worse. She couldn’t stop thinking about the ’Vette. She had to see it one more time. She just had to. But if her dad—Dunc—didn’t want her in the house, he wouldn’t want her in the garage either. He especially wouldn’t want her in the garage.

Tish breezed through the kitchen, putting on a pair of funky, dangly earrings and then fluffing her hair. “I’m going out back. To get the latest updates on the Chevelle.”

“Have fun.” Mel could have given her the latest about the wiring harness, whatever that was, but she knew Tish didn’t give a flip about the car. She wanted to see George.

It would be fantastic to be able to talk to the guy you loved, any old time.

With a sigh, Mel dried the last plate and put it away in the cupboard. She was so tired of acting happy. At work, George kept watching her. Not like he thought she’d steal something, but like he was afraid she’d fall apart in the middle of polishing a candlestick or whatever. She’d held it together, though. Even when he acted like he thought she was about to throw a fit, which was exactly what made her want to throw a fit, she’d held it together.

Praying helped. She kept asking God to keep the car from selling, and to help buyers find other cars before they saw Dunc’s ads. She prayed about a million other things too, like money and clothes and figuring out how to get along without a family and how to go to college when she could hardly read. Last night, instead of crying herself to sleep, she’d prayed the night away.

She hung the towel over the handle on the oven door, then circled around to make sure she hadn’t missed anything to wash or put away.

Tish’s phone lay on the table.

Thinking hard about how to make the most of her big chance, Mel waited for a minute to make sure Tish wasn’t coming back for the phone. Then, keeping an eye out for her, Mel dialed her mom’s number.

Please, God, don’t let Tish look at her call records—

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom. It’s me. Mel.”

A brief pause. “Where are you? It’s the wrong area code.”

“I borrowed a phone from a friend.”

“Are you all right? Are you still in town?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I got a job. I’ve been working for George.”

“That’s nice.”

Mel had hoped she’d sound more excited. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to ask about the car. The clothes shouldn’t be a big deal, though.

“I’m not making much money yet,” she said. “And I need clothes. Can I stop by sometime for some of my things?”

“I don’t think that would be wise.”

“It would only take a few minutes. Come on, Mom. You can throw some things in a bag and leave it by the front door if you don’t want to see me.”

“It’s not that. Your father doesn’t want you on our property. He says you’re a bad influence on Stu’s boys. You know they’re staying with us for a while.”

“Yeah, but how long can it take to remodel a kitchen? Anyway, I don’t even have to see the boys. I can come when they’re in school. Pick a day and I’ll be there. Well, if I’m not working.” Mel swung around to look at the calendar on the wall. “Hey, your anniversary is coming up. Are you planning anything?”

“Yes. Nothing fancy, though. Dinner and a movie in Muldro.”

Mel waited for her mom to say something about a birthday dinner too, but she didn’t. Not one word. And she was the one who always planned things weeks and weeks ahead of time.

“I guess we’re not getting together for my birthday, huh?”

“If you weren’t a bad influence on Nick and Jamie—”

“Don’t give me that.” Mel felt hard and mean inside, as sharp as the blade of her mom’s food processor. “Even if Nicky and Jamie weren’t around, even if they didn’t exist, you’d still wish I didn’t exist. And you say I’m a bad influence? What kind of influence do you think you are on me?”

Mel ended the call and put the phone back where she’d found it. She picked it up again, wiped it with her shirt, and put it down carefully. No fingerprints. Then she stared out the window at branches bobbing up and down in the wind.

Her parents weren’t going to do a thing for her twenty-first birthday. The big one. She was a stranger to them. A nobody. She was dead to them, but they weren’t crying for her. Well, she wouldn’t cry for them either.

She might cry for Nicky and Jamie, though. And even for Stu.

She remembered looking over her shoulder after he’d dropped her off at the vacant bank building. A crazy thought had hit her hard: What if I never see him again? For one little second, she’d loved him for being the big, grown-up brother who whooped and cheered for her at the kindergarten talent show and cried when the cop brought her home after she’d run away.

But then she saw the dealership license plate on the back of the big silver gas hog, and she remembered he was part of Dunc Hamilton’s business. That made Stu the enemy, almost.

She wouldn’t cry for him anymore either. She was done.

Walking into the warmth of the kitchen after a chilly half hour in the garage, Tish smiled. She’d been cold, but she’d enjoyed having George all to herself for a while. No Calv. No Mel, although her troubles had come up in the conversation. Just Daisy, who didn’t matter … and George, who was beginning to matter a lot.

She had to call Mom soon. She would want to know all about George, like Tish had wanted to know all about Charles. The mother-daughter bond had grown stronger through their losses—first Stephen, then Dad—and sometimes Tish thought they were more like sisters than mom and daughter.

She turned in a circle, inspecting the kitchen. Mel had done a great job of leaving it spick-and-span, as usual. Tish headed toward the guest room to express her appreciation. The poor kid probably didn’t get enough pats on the back, especially if George’s new theory held any water. An undiagnosed learning disability could explain a lot of Mel’s issues.

Reaching the bedroom doorway, Tish stopped, picking up bad vibes from Mel’s furtive body language. Unaware of her visitor, Mel tiptoed to the dresser and opened the top drawer, being awfully quiet about it. She pulled a white sock from the back of the drawer and squeezed the toe of it, then glanced over her shoulder. Seeing Tish, she jumped, dropping the sock, and slammed the drawer.

“What are you hiding, Mel?”

“Nothing.” But she stood squarely in front of the dresser, her face as white as the day she’d thought her sleeping bag had gone in the wash.

Hugely disappointed, Tish shook her head. “Wasn’t honesty one of the things we talked about when I laid down my house rules?”

Mel’s eyes narrowed. “I can be honest without telling you absolutely everything.”

“What are you hiding?”

“What do you think I’m hiding?”

“I don’t know. If it’s something harmless, you shouldn’t be afraid to show me.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“If it’s under my roof, it’s my business.”

Mel’s cheeks turned red. “Fine. You want to see my horrible, awful, illegal secret? I’ll show you.” She yanked the drawer open, picked up the sock, and pulled something out of it. She opened her hand, revealing an old-fashioned gold pocket watch. “It was Grandpa John’s. He gave it to me.”

Tish drew in her breath. “Well! Farris was right when he decided not to hire me because of you.”

“He what?”

“Farris refused to give me a job because he heard I was harboring a criminal. I stuck up for you, Mel, but I shouldn’t have. You’re a thief, all right, and you cost me that job.”

“Grandpa John promised me the watch. Why don’t you believe me? Why don’t you trust me?”

“You don’t seem to be trustworthy. The evidence is piling up, and it’s all going against you.”

“Like the evidence against the McCombs is piling up?” Mel spat out. “It doesn’t feel good to have your reputation in the Dumpster, does it? But you’re doing the same thing to me.” Mel stalked across the room, almost invading Tish’s personal space. “I am not a thief.”

Tish glanced down at Mel’s hand clenched around the watch. “You stole the watch. You need to give it back.”

Mel opened her fist. With her other hand, she ran a fingertip over a monogram engraved on the smooth golden case. “It’s mine.”

Tish hated to act like Mel’s mother again, but somebody had to. “It’s not legally yours. I won’t have stolen property in my house, Melanie. If you won’t give it back to your father, move out of my house. Today.”

“Grandpa John told me he was going to give me the watch someday, but for a long time, I didn’t know what he meant.” Mel’s voice shook. “When I figured it out, I said I didn’t want it if he had to die to give it to me. He said that was exactly why he wanted me to have it.” She let out a little sob and shoved the watch into Tish’s hand. “Go ahead, give it back, but I’m never talking to Dunc again.”

“Mel—”

But Mel pushed her way past Tish and ran down the hall. The front door slammed.

Weak in the knees, Tish wobbled over to the bed and sat on the edge. Opening her hand, she studied the watch case. The monogram read JMH, presumably for John M. Hoff. Mel’s initials were MJH, the same letters in different order. Remembering her conversation with George, Tish wondered what it would be like to live in a world where letters and numbers shuffled their order when you weren’t looking.

She opened the case. The watch ticked quietly in her hand, keeping perfect time. It had survived two years in Mel’s possession without a scratch, and she’d never intended to sell it.

Now Dunc’s demand wasn’t impossible. He might let Mel rejoin the family, especially if he understood why she’d taken the watch. He might even let her keep it.