Page 59 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

Prescott didn’t intend to talk much. Mr. Curtis had instructed him to listen. “Your grandpa told me to come. Besides, you have only forty-five minutes to catch your ride home.”

“I’ll walk home.” Her voice wavered. “I deserve it.”

Sighing, Prescott crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his armpits to keep a little dry. He was in no mood for more theatrics.

“Go ahead,” she cried. “Say, ‘I told you so.’”

He shook his head. He didn’t need to say it.

Her back and shoulders curved low. “You should say it. You were right, and I was wrong. Horribly wrong. I wanted a spectacle, and oh, I got one. A spectacular fiasco.”

Raindrops created little spouts as they hit the pond. He didn’t want to look at Maggie. Certainly didn’t want to feel sorry for her.

“Poor Vi,” she said with a sob. “Poor Frank.”

At least she hadn’t said, “Poor me.”

“I wanted them to have a happy ending.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “Now they’ll never speak to each other again. And I embarrassed them—publicly. It was nothing—nothing like I imagined, and it was even worse than you imagined.”

Prescott released another sigh. She was right about that.

“I’m sorry, Press. You warned me, and I didn’t listen. Why didn’t I listen? Grandpa told me not to meddle, told me if I’m keeping secrets, I’m meddling. But no, I told myself it was no different than a surprise party or a Christmas gift. But it was meddling. And I ruined their lives.” True remorse quivered in her voice, and she chewed on a thumbnail.

Why would Prescott need to speak when she was telling herself everything he might have said—and more?

“I was trying to listen to God.” Limp dark strands covered her cheeks. “I was. I was praying about this. I really was, Press.”

That niggling again, and words built in his head and flowed over his tongue. “Were you praying that your plan would work? Or were you asking God whether your plan was wise?”

Maggie lifted her head and shoved aside tendrils of hair. In the darkness, her eyes and mouth formed large dark circles. Then she sobbed and hunched over her knees again.

“Come on,” Prescott said. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”

“No. I chose entertainment over people, just as you said. Same as I always do. I’m the one who got Rose sick. My little sister got meningitis because I ignored my mother and played with her when I was sick.”

Prescott arched one eyebrow. He hadn’t heard this part of the story.

Her teeth clicked on her thumbnail. “My parents never blamed me, said I was only six years old. But I was old enough to listen, old enough to know I’d ruined my sister’s life.”

A twisting in Prescott’s gut. What a heavy load to carry. “You were little. How were you to know?”

She waved him off. “And now—why didn’t I listen to Grandpa? To you? I’ll lose my job and rightly so.”

Prescott groaned. “It may not be as bad as all that. If you apologize—”

“No, no.” She clapped her hands on her knees and sat up straight. “I won’t make them fire me. I’ll resign.”

“Don’t be hasty.”

“It’s the right thing to do. The USO trusted me, and I abused their trust. Besides, if I resign, maybe Vi will agree to perform. You and Ria—you can manage the show. Everything ran smoothly tonight. You don’t need me.”

Not true, but she had a point about Vi, and he grimaced.

“Oh, Grandpa.” She sagged back down over her knees. “What am I going to do?”

“Get a job.”

She glanced up. “Pardon?”