Page 61 of Faun Over Me

She held onto Mac, wailing into the camp director’s shirtsleeve. Shaking and trembling against her until the worst of it was out. Her throat ached, snot ran from her nose, and through it all, Mac held her, rocking Avery gently while whispering, “Shh, shh.”

When the worst of it subsided, she leaned away. Mac let her go easily, waiting for Avery to speak with a gentle, open expression.

She sniffed, rubbed the back of her wrist under her nose, and said to the ceiling, “I don’t understand how someone can hate their own daughter so much.”

“It’s not you, Avery.” Mac patted the comforter between them, leaving her hand accessible should Avery need someone to hold onto. “It’s what you—what we represent.”

“Sin,” she spat, her eyes fixed on the bed.

“No. Strength.” Mac slapped the comforter. “Strength and kindness. Openmindedness. Love. People like your dad are afraid because the world is changing. The balance of power is shifting out of their hands, and they are too small to possess the ability to adapt and evolve. People like us?” She ducked low to meet Avery’s eyes. “We represent the future. The way the world could be, the way it should be, and that is something to be proud of.”

Avery sniffled, nodding weakly. Mac’s words, though, resonated within her, spiraling deep into a vital place where they would plant as a seed and grow roots, forming the new foundation of Avery’s world. But at this moment? They were too large to comprehend. Too heavy of a burden to bear.

Cricket shifted in the bed, snorting in her sleep. Both Avery and Mac watched her for a moment, and then the director took Avery’s hand and squeezed.

“I’m not saying you need to shave your head, pierce your nipples, and carry a sign that says Tacos 24/7. I mean, if you want to, sure. Fine. I’ve got clippers in my bathroom, but you’re on your own for the piercings.” Avery couldn’t help but chuckle, and Mac’s mouth curled to the side, driving a tiny dimple into her cheek. “What I’m saying is, you’ve got family around you.”

“Thanks, Direc—”

“Oh for… can you just call me Mac?” She threw her hands up, and her exasperation pulled a full laugh out of Avery.

Cricket jolted awake, sitting upright, hands pressed into the mattress. She jerked her head to the left, the right, then flopped against the pillows, dropping an arm across her face. “Gods, what’s happened now?”

Avery curled her fingers under Cricket’s. “Just Mac telling me I’ve got family that won’t, you know, try to forge my signature for financial and political gain and then feed me to a werewolf.”

“Oh, right.” One round, coppery eye peered at Avery. “Obviously.”

“Well, that,” Mac said, “and also, downstairs.”

Avery twisted around, wincing as the move jostled her leg. “What?”

“They just got in. Drove straight from Harrisburg.” Mac glanced at the door and dropped her voice to whisper conspiratorially, “Your mom refused to post bail.”

Avery gaped at her, the implication circling in her head until even the words didn’t make sense. She dragged her gaze to the door, clutching the comforter in one hand and grasping Cricket’s fingers with the other. “My mom?”

“And siblings,” Mac confirmed. “There are so many redheads down there, it’s like a wildfire.” She shook her head, gaze going distant. “Your dad’s an asshole, but he must be great in the sack because that is a LOT of kids.”

“A whole football team,” Avery murmured, easing her hand away from Cricket’s and gripping the bedpost to stand. Mac hopped up, fetching a crutch from against the wall and helping Avery gain her balance.

“You don’t have to do this right now.”

“I know.” She sent her boss a tight smile, then glanced at the bed. Cricket had managed to right herself, but her eyes were glassy, her limbs loose. Avery’s chest warmed at the sight. Even drugged with goodness knew what tranquilizers and injured—again —Cricket wanted to stand beside her; wanted to be there for her.

“Stay,” Avery whispered. “Please, get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” Cricket asked, her head already dropping.

Avery nodded and jerked her chin to the empty half of the mattress. “Keep it warm for me. I’ll be right back.” And with a nod to Mac, she hobbled out of the room.

She moved slowly down the stairs, hesitating at the first glimpse of ash blonde hair in a braid. Her mother stood in Mac’s office, one arm wrapped around her front, fingers pressed to her lips. Her eyes were pinned on something out the window, her back straight and proud. Avery’s heart clenched at the collision of worlds. In a few short weeks, Elkwater had become a sort of home, and she hadn’t recognized how precious she held the camp until this moment—when her mother stood in Mac’s office. The representation of the life Avery had been running from, the life she could never escape. The life she would be forced to return to, either now, or at the end of the summer, but forced to return either way.

Pressed and proper. Clean and tidy. Her mother was the culmination of every cultivated image Nathan Payne presented to the world. Everything Avery was not.

She glanced at her borrowed clothes—bike shorts and an OSU hoodie. Her hair hung loose, spilling over her shoulders in a wave of frizzy red. One sock. She could not have looked any further from the Payne ideal, and the thought had her backing up a step, heat crawling up her neck as embarrassment set in.

A floorboard creaked beneath her crutch, and Avery’s mom whirled around. Her poise shattered, tears filled her sky-blue eyes, and in a blink, she was rushing from the office and launching to the base of the stairs, wrapping her arms around Avery.

“My baby girl,” her mom wept into her hair. “Oh, my Avery.”

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