Page 93 of Feast

“The fuck it’s not,” Halley countered, and Maddie glanced back at the fury in her sister’s voice.

“He didn’t lie to me, or lead me on,” Maddie said, repeating out loud what she’d been telling herself for the last four days. “I assumed we were on the same page, and I shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t you dare take the blame for this,” Halley began.

“I’m not,” Maddie assured her. “At least not more than my share. It’s on both of us, really.”

“I don’t care,” Halley said. “He hurt you, and he must pay.”

Maddie smiled, really smiled, for the first time since she’d left Spence’s apartment on Wednesday night. “You gonna kick his ass for me, Hal?”

“I want to,” Halley said, glaring out the windshield. “But he’s really big, and the last time I tried to punch someone I broke my hand.”

“You punched a light pole,” Maddie reminded her.

“Yes, but I was aiming for Jimmy Patton. Little shit stole my Tamagotchi,” Halley muttered, then frowned. “Where was I?”

“Spence is really big and you broke your hand.”

“Right. Plus, I’m pregnant.”

“Which you’re going to have to tell Dad about soon,” Maddie pointed out.

“I’m going to tell him today.”

“Really?”

“Maybe.” Halley bit her lip. “There’s a good chance I’ll chicken out.”

“Well, not to put more pressure on you, but it would be nice to have the distraction.”

“I’ll do my best. Depending on what’s for dinner, I might not have a choice.”

“Still puking at the smell of meat, huh?”

“And bacon, unfortunately,” Halley sighed. “Not the smell, but the taste.”

“This kid owes you.”

“Tell me about it. Hey, maybe I can puke on Spence. Two birds, one stone.”

“That’s the spirit,” Maddie said with a laugh that faded as Halley slowed the car and turned into the drive.

The sprawling two-story farmhouse sat close to the road, its wide front porch flanked by the pair of cherry trees their father had planted at Maddie’s birth, then at Halley’s. It was painted a bright, traditional white, the shutters and trim a glossy black for contrast. The flower beds were covered in snow, but in the spring the tulips and irises their dad lovingly tended would pop out of the ground, and summer would bring fragrant blooms by the dozens.

“The house looks good,” Halley commented as they climbed out of the car.

“Did he repaint recently?” Maddie wondered.

“Late last summer.” Halley opened the back door and retrieved a gift bag, colorful tissue spilling out of the top. “I only got out of having to do the trim because I had Covid, remember?”

“Right.” Maddie shut the car door and took a deep breath. Spence’s truck was parked next to her dad’s in the drive, and for some reason, the sight of it had the emotions she’d been trying not to feel all morning rising up into her throat. “Is it terrible that I don’t want to go in?”

Halley circled the car to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Want me to drive you into town? You can hang out at the library. I’ll come get you when dinner’s over.”

“Tempting,” Maddie admitted, and for a moment, indulged in the fantasy of it. Then she drew in a breath. “But no, thanks.”

“You sure?”

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