Page 67 of The Luminaries
She draws up short at the sight of Winnie, her cool poise briefly flickering with eye-widening surprise. As usual, she looks like a model on the runway, in designer jeans, her signature steel-toed boots, and a black turtleneck.
“Erica,” Winnie says as Erica visibly reassembles her aloof hauteur. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“Paper.” Erica’s eyes thin suspiciously. “For Professor Il-Hwa, due Thursday. Tomorrow. What are you doing here?”
Winnie gulps. They might not have been friends for the last four years, but Erica will absolutely see through a lie. “I was looking for something,” she says—very much the truth. Then, before Erica can askwhat,Winnie powers on with: “I asked Darian about the locket. He found it in our attic. So… I don’t think it was yours.”
“Ah.” A rusty warmth rises on Erica’s face, just visible through her freshly applied makeup. “About that. I…” She wets her lips. “I should apologize. I was mistaken about the locket. I…” Swallow. “I’m sorry for…” Eye twitch. “For accusing you.”
“Oh.” Winnie blinks. She is stunned.Morethan stunned. She is downright shocked. Like an air sylphid has gotten her with its lightning. “Thank you?”
“It was Jenna’s is all.” Erica speaks faster now, her attention fastening on the nearest shelf. “I lost it last year, and when I saw yours, I thought… you know. That you or Darian orsomeonehad taken it. But no. I just lost it because of course I did. I’m verygoodat losing things.”
There is so much venom in Erica’s voice that Winnie instinctively moves a step closer. It’s like the years between them are falling away. Like they’re not in the library, but instead are twelve again sitting on Erica’s bed while Erica berates herself with one more criticism heaped on by Marcia. “It’s not your fault, E. People lose things all the time.”
“Hmm.” Erica’s lips press tight. Her chest stops moving. Her gaze upon the shelf has moved into another time.Recognizing Dianas,says the spine she seems to be staring at. A book Winnie could have used four years ago.
She spots diamond studs in Erica’s ears that she remembers Erica getting for her tenth birthday. And she spots a patch of shiny red skinon the tip of Erica’s thumb, where the Band-Aid had been a few days ago.
Erica also smells like summer rain. The perfume Jenna used to wear.
“I’m sorry you lost Jenna.” The words flicker from Winnie’s mouth like a candle flame. “I’m sorry you lost her. I… I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you.”
“But of course you can.” Erica’s gaze moves to Winnie’s face. For a split second, it feels like the banshee stare in the forest. “Your dad might as well be dead, Winnie, since it’s not like you’re ever going to see him again.”
Without another word, Erica spins on her heel and clacks away. She doesn’t grab whatever book she’d come for, and Winnie doesn’t chase after to remind her.
CHAPTER34
After school and training at the Sunday estate—to which Jay fails to arrive so Winnie can ask him about the Whisperer—Mom picks up Winnie and nervous-talks the entire ride home. Tonight is Mom’s first night entering the Wednesday estate in four years, and though she has seen Rachel, she has yet to face the entire clan.
She doesn’t say it, but Winnie knows she’s thinking, hoping, praying:Maybe they’ll end the punishment early. Maybe we’ll stop being outcasts.
“We leave at six,” Mom tells Winnie as she parks the Volvo at the curb. “Be ready, or I will leave without you.”
Winnie absolutely believes she will.
For the next hour, they both settle into an unspoken frenzy over what they’re going to wear tonight. Winnie digs through what few clean clothes remain in her closet. Then she scours what is dirty (why was Febreze invented if not for this exact moment?), and finally she scours Mom’s closet. She has the clan dinner and then the twins’ birthday party to look her best for.
Ultimately, with shoulders that gradually slope lower and lower, Winnie is forced to accept there is nothing in their household that would qualify asfancyfor Emma and Bretta’s party. Nor even something that willqualify as adress.Which, now that Winnie considers it, is absurd. She’s annoyed with herself and Mom equally for this.
So Winnie returns to her room, scrounges out some black leggings, a longer black sweater that couldalmostbe a dress if she tugs a bit, and some black flats that she knows are going to leave her feet freezing. She briefly considers wearing her hoodie, just to make the twins laugh. Then decides against it. What if they or someone else mistakenly thinks she’s serious?
“You look nice,” Mom says, when Winnie finally comes downstairs and joins Mom in the living room. She wears her usual casual-but-nice outfit for those rare moments she’s not in greasy work clothes and has to look presentable: fitted jeans, a silk T-shirt, and a long cashmere cardigan. She has each item in three colors, purchased shortly before Dad left, and since she so rarely dresses up, they still look brand-new.
It is startling to see, actually. Mom with her hair styled, Mom in nice clothes, Mom with small pearl earrings and a dab of blush to make her cheeks glow. For half a moment, between one groaning step and the next (that third stair issucha doozy), Winnie feels like she’s been shot backward four years in time. Nothing has changed, it’s just another Wednesday dinner, and any moment now, Dad is going to come out of the kitchen with his canteen, screwing on the top while water drips down because he is never,neverwithout water.
But Dad doesn’t come out of the kitchen, and Mom is wringing her hands in a way Mom never used to do—and there’s no wedding band on the left one to glint as she does so. Plus, now that Winnie takes the final steps, she can see that Mom’s concealer is creasing into lines that didn’t used to be there, and she is very conspicuously missing the long crescent-moon necklace she always used to wear.Thatnecklace is for Lead Hunter;thatnecklace belongs to Aunt Rachel now.
“You ready?” Mom asks without really waiting to see if Winnie is. She strides to the closet under the stairs. “Darian is meeting us at the estate. No Andrew, since we’re not entirely sure what to expect tonight.” Mom pulls out an old peacoat that has seen better days—and that permanently smells of hash browns—and offers Winnie her leather jacket.
“Oh,” Mom says, as she hands it over. “You’re wearing your old glasses.”
Winnie winces. “Yeah, just for tonight. The new ones got bent at the first trial.”
“Right.” Mom winces too, though she quickly schools it away. She doesn’t believe Winnie; Winnie feels like the worst daughter who ever lived.
But it’s too late now to grab the other pair, and theyarestill bent. So there’s nothing to do but follow after Mom, feeling abjectly horrible every step of the way.
