The Evolution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer #2)(11)

There’s always another shoe.

“I don’t want you home alone. And I don’t want you driving, either.”

I bit my tongue.

“You can leave the house as long as Daniel’s with you. And if you come back without him, he’ll have to answer for it.”

Which wasn’t fair to him. Which they knew.

“Someone will take you to and from the program every day—”

“How many days a week is it?”

“Five,” my mother said.

At least it wasn’t seven. “Who’s going to take me?” I asked, peering at her. “Don’t you have work?”

“I’ll take you, sweetheart,” my dad said.

“Don’t you have work?”

“I’m taking some time off,” he said lightly, and ruffled my hair.

When we pulled up onto our street, I was surprised to find myself annoyed. It was the picture of suburban perfection; each lawn meticulously edged, each hedge carefully trimmed. There wasn’t a single flower out of place, or even a stray branch on the ground, and our house was just the same. Maybe that was what bothered me. My family had been through hell and I was the one who put them there, but from the outside looking in, you’d never know.

When my mother opened the front door, my little brother rushed into the foyer wearing a suit, pocket square and all.

He smiled with his whole face, threw his arms wide open and seemed like he was just about to launch himself at me, but then stopped. He teetered on his toes. “Are you staying?” he asked cautiously.

I looked to my mother for an answer.

“For now,” she said.

“Yes!” He wrapped both arms around me, but when I tried to do the same he jumped away. “Watch the suit,” he said, glaring.

Oh, boy. “Have you taken over the operation of some Fortune 500 company while I was gone?”

“Not yet. We’re supposed to dress up as the person we most admire and write a speech from their point of view for school.”

“And you are . . .”

“Warren Buffett.”

“I didn’t know he was partial to pocket squares.”

“He isn’t.” Daniel appeared from the kitchen, his fingers wrapped around a very thick book, the title of which I couldn’t read. “That was Joseph’s special touch.”

“Wait, isn’t it Sunday?” I asked.

Daniel nodded. “It is. But even with the entirety of spring break to practice, our little brother doesn’t appear to want to wear anything else.”

Joseph lifted his chin. “I like it.”

“I like it too,” I said, and ruffled his hair before he ducked away.

Daniel grinned at me. “Glad to have you back, little sister.” His eyes were warm, and I’d never felt happier to be home. He ran a hand through his thick hair, creating a gravity-defying mess. I cocked my head—the gesture was unusual for him. It was more reminiscent of— Noah glided out of the kitchen before I could finish my thought, holding his own massive book. “You’re completely wrong about Bakhtin—” he started, then looked from my parents, to me, to Daniel, and then back to me.

Scratch that. I’d never felt happier to be home until now.

“Mara,” Noah said casually. “Good to see you.”

Good did not do my feelings justice. All I wanted was to pull Noah into my room and pour out my heart. But we were under observation, so all I could say was, “You too.”

“Mr. Dyer,” he said to my father, “you’re looking quite well.”

“Thank you, Noah,” my Dad said. “That gift basket you brought kept me from starving. The hospital food nearly killed me.”

Noah’s eyes met mine before he answered, “Then I’m thrilled to have saved your life.”





8





NOAH SPOKE TO MY FATHER, BUT HIS WORDS were meant for me.

An unsubtle reminder of what he did for me after what I did to my father, and it stung. Everyone kept talking but I stopped listening, until my mother pulled me aside.

“Mara, can I speak to you for a second?”

I cleared my throat. “Sure.”

“You guys figure out what you want for dinner,” she called out, then led me down the long hallway into my room.

We walked by our own smiling faces on the wall, past the gallery of family pictures. When I passed my grandmother’s portrait, I couldn’t help but look at it with new eyes.

“I want to talk to you about Noah,” my mother said once we were in my room.

Stay cool. “What’s up?” I asked, and slid onto my bed until my back leaned against the navy wall. Despite everything, I felt oddly relaxed in my room. More like myself in the dark.

“He’s been spending a lot of time here, which I know you know, but also after you were—gone.”

Gone. So that’s how we were going to refer to it.

“Noah’s become one of Daniel’s close friends, and he’s great with Joseph, too, actually, but I also know you’re . . . together . . . and I have some concerns.”

She wasn’t the only one. Noah came to the hospital today because he knew about Jude. He knew I was in trouble. He came because I needed him.