Page 7 of The Queen's Box

“Oh, wonderful,” Miriam said, bringing her hands together. “Does your wife keep any of her mother’s journals there by chance?”

Grant’s smile froze. “I’m sure she doesn’t. I don’t think her mother’s journals are in her possession.”

“No?”

“At any rate, that’s a question for her.”

Miriam cocked her head like a small inquisitive bird. “Yes, but she isn’t here.” She scanned the room. “Unless... perhaps I’ve missed her?”

“She has a headache, I’m afraid. A migraine. She’s upstairs resting.”

Miriam’s bright bird mannerisms fell away. When she said, “I’m sorry to hear that,” Willow found herself believing her—which made Willow feel doubly guilty for not believing her mother’s excuse earlier. “Migraines are just awful.”

“Yes, they are,” Willow’s father said stiffly.

Miriam nodded.

Willow’s father nodded back.

“Still,” Miriam said. “I really would love . . .”

“Of course! Yes, of course,” said Willow’s father.

Willow watched him escort Miriam toward the library, struck by the way Miriam moved. Her footsteps were deliberate, unhurried, untouched by the anxious rhythms of the party. Willow felt the space between herself and that kind of quiet authority as a physical ache, as if Miriam carried knowledge that Willow would never manage to grasp.

Willow turned back toward the dining room. The crystal chandelier glittered above the long table, reflecting laughter and polished smiles. Glasses clinked. Voices rose and fell. Willow tried to anchor herself in her body, but she felt floaty in a way that usually warned of danger.

Ash stood several yards away, chatting with yet another tech guy. Willow knew that she should join them—that she shouldtry a little harder—but her head felt suddenly balloon-like. She turned her back to the crowd, her jingle-bell skirt tinkling as she made a beeline for the staircase.

Ash slid in beside her and then around her, blocking her way.

“Nope,” Ash said, crossing her arms. “You don’t get to play that card.”

“What card?” Willow asked.

“The ‘Mom’s crazy, and so am I’ card,” Ash said. “‘The world is too much for me to bear, so please excuse me when I disappear.’”

Willow’s anger flared. She forced her shoulders to go down and said, deliberately, “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you hoping I’d join you for another round of ‘Let’s Humiliate Willow’ instead?”

“You don’t need me for that,” Ash retorted. “You do that all on your own.”

Willow pivoted, walking away from the staircase and down the hall instead.

“It’s just soboring, Willow,” Ash said. “You and Mom both. Boring and predictable.”

“So go away. Let me be boring on my own.”

“Oh, I would, but if you huff off and disappear, Mom will end up hearing about it. Then she’ll get upset. Then she’ll have another migraine. And Dad will worry, worry, worry about her, and when he’s done, they’ll worry, worry, worry about you, which leaves me—as always—to keep things running smoothly by being productive. Capable.Stable.”

Ash scoffed. “Oh. My bad. Youdon’tknow, do you? Or you pretend you don’t because it’s easier that way.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Willow snapped. “Why would I pretend to beunstable? Do you remember what they do to girls their parents call unstable?”

“Oh, please.”

“Ash. Seriously?”

They were almost to the library, and Willow felt trapped. The hallway wouldn’t go on forever, whereas Ash apparently would.

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