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“Well, this is nice, but it looks ancient,” her dad observed. “Hard to believe it still works.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Isobel checked her digital clock.
The numbers 6:45 blared in neon blue. But the strong smell of garlic and simmering tomato sauce wafting from the hall, combined with her father’s presence in her room and his mostly calm demeanor, told Isobel it wasn’t morning and she wasn’t running late for school.
Then she remembered that after getting home from her first day back at cheer practice, she’d come upstairs and, thinking she would just rest her eyes for a moment, curled up in bed.
Something about going back into that gym, about rejoining the ranks of the squad and reconnecting with Nikki and Stevie—not to mention picking up the slack after her short hiatus—had sapped Isobel’s energy far more than she’d anticipated. And maybe she’d fallen asleep so easily because, for the first time in a long time, she’d felt safe in letting go, in allowing herself to fall under and dream. . . .
“Dinner’s just about ready,” her dad said, interrupting her thoughts. “Spaghetti and garlic bread.”
She nodded. “That sounds good.”
“Dooo . . . you wanna go out for ice cream afterward?” he asked.
Isobel pursed her lips. “Depends,” she said as she drew her knees to her chest. Resting her chin on them, she wrapped her arms around her legs. “Is . . . Mom coming?”
Her dad’s smile came tight, but genuine. He nodded. “Danny, too.”
“Then . . . yeah,” Isobel said. “Count me in.”
“Great.” Isobel’s dad stood and set her pocket watch gently on the open Poe book.
“Doing some light reading?” he asked, tilting his head at its pages.
Isobel shrugged. “Just flipping through.”
“Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll see you downstairs in about five?”
“Yeah, I’ll . . . be right there.”
Isobel’s dad tucked his hands into his pockets. Without saying anything else, he went to the door. He paused there, though, and after several seconds turned to face her again.
“Hey,” he said, withdrawing something pink from his pocket—Isobel’s cell. “Want to invite your friend?”
She gave him a small smile, marveling at how Gwen had been able to do it again.
Never in her life would Isobel understand that girl’s odd way with people, her crazy ability to weasel into favor just as easily as she fell out of it—if not more so.
“He likes ice cream, doesn’t he?” her dad asked as he tossed the phone onto her bed.
Isobel’s mouth popped open wide.
Seconds flew by as she tried to catch up with what he’d just said, to wrap her mind around his meaning. Then she scrambled for her cell, finding her wits and her voice in the same instant.
“Yeah,” she said. “Actually, he does.”
Epilogue
Boston, Massachusetts
Sweet Surrender Dessert Café
December 21
Two Years Later
“How do you know she’ll be home?” Isobel asked.
