Page 28 of Wicked Games

I find the key and brush off the crusted dirt. It’s dull, with rust spots, but it still works. The door opens under my hand. Absently, I pocket the key.

It’s like walking into the past—but not the past that I want to remember. Not the disrupted, angry place that I’ve forgotten. No, it’s like…

Sunshine.

Past

“Margo!”

I jerked upright. The sun had felt so good beating down on my face that I closed my eyes. It was just for a minute.

Mom stands in front of me. “What are you doing on the floor?”

I shrugged.

Sundays were a big day for her, which meant her white chef’s coat was pristine. She meal-prepped lunches for the Ashers to take to work for the next week, and then she came home and do the same for us. After, she’d return to their kitchen and make a big Sunday roast for them.

Now she smoothed the coat down. Nervous habit or calming gesture, I hadn’t quite figured it out. But it usually carried some amount of tension in her.

I stand carefully.

“Lydia wanted to know if you would like to go to the park with them.”

I perked up. I wasn’t allowed to call Mrs. Asher by her first name, but Mom was. I guessed it was an adult thing. Caleb called my mom Amber.

So maybe it was amething. They never bothered to explain that.

“When?”

“Now.” She laughed. She came over and held out her hands, lifting me to my feet. “If you want. I made sandwiches for a picnic.”

“Are you going?”

She shook her head. “No, I have some things to do around the house.”

I bit my lip.

“Your dad will be home later,” she said. “He just got caught up at the office.”

On a Sunday.

“Okay,” I said.

She brushed her hand over my clothes, straightening my shirt and smoothing my hair. I sometimes liked the way she made sure everything was in place, but other times it scratched at my skin. Like now, when she was only doing it because I’d be going with Mrs. Asher and Caleb.

“Perfect,” she finally said, releasing me.

I smiled.

Caleb and his mom were in the kitchen when we walked in. He sat at the breakfast bar, dutifully finishing breakfast. It looked like he got scrambled eggs, roasted potatoes, sausage. The smell of it fills my nose.

I ate hours ago, pouring myself a bowl of cereal after I woke and discovered the house empty. Now, my stomach growled.

Mom tapped the back of my head like it wasmyfault my stomach was being loud.

“Good morning, Margo,” Mrs. Asher greeted me.

I smiled at her. “Hi.”

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