CHAPTER EIGHT
Temptation

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, AT THE FUNERAL

A somber shadow cast over the parish, touching the hearts of all those who shuffled into the sanctuary for Maryanne Duke’s funeral. School had even let out early for the afternoon service. Everyone was affected by the gloom of it all—everyone except my mother. I could tell she was still in perfection overdrive when she started banging around the kitchen at four a.m. to make a feast big enough for a thousand mourners. Her enthusiastic tone startled more than a few sullen people as she greeted them before the service with Pastor Clark, and she invited anyone who looked the slightest bit lonely to tomorrow’s Thanksgiving extravaganza at our house.

“Invite whomever you’d like,” she said to Charity and me as we loaded trays of food into the Blue Bubble. “I want this to be the warmest Thanksgiving your father can remember. He could really use the company.”

But I wasn’t sure she was right about that. Dad shrank away from his greeter duties before the funeral and ended up sitting in the only deserted corner of the chapel by himself, rather than taking his seat on the pulpit as the presiding pastor of the parish. I had the overwhelming urge to go to him, but I was stuck on the choir benches with Charity, watching the back of Pastor Clark’s robes sway as he talked in melancholy tones about Maryanne’s warm heart and giving nature, even though he barely knew her. I scanned the sanctuary and wished I could send a telepathic message to either my mother or brother to go put their arms around Dad, but Mom was busy setting up for the dinner in the social hall, and Jude was nuzzled close to April in the third row.

My eyes shot back to the hem of Pastor Clark’s robes and stayed there until it was my turn to sing. The organ belted out the notes of the song, and I tried to choke out the words. My face began to quiver. I knew I was on the verge of crying, but I pushed that urge way down like always and pursed my lips together. I couldn’t sing another note or I’d lose it. And Charity’s voice was so high and shaky that I couldn’t even tell what part of the song she was singing. I looked out the windows at the dreary, smog-filled sky—even the clouds looked like they were about to burst with emotion—and that’s when I saw him.

Daniel sat in the back of the crowded balcony with his arms folded and his head bowed. He must have felt the heat of my stare because he lifted his chin. Even from that distance, I could see that his eyes were rimmed with red. He looked down into me for a moment, like he could see every painful feeling I was holding back, and then he lowered his head again.

Curiosity replaced grief as I sat down in my seat. Charity wrapped her arm around my shoulders, no doubt mistaking my shocked expression for extreme emotional distress. The Duke daughters’ droning eulogy went on for ages. Angela Duke even worked in a few well-placed jabs at Dad. When the service finally ended, and the procession of those mourners headed for the grave site had filed out, I watched Daniel move toward the balcony staircase that led to an outside exit. I jumped out of my seat, waving off someone who tried to thank me for my singing—or lack thereof—and pulled on my charcoal-gray dress coat and leather gloves.

“Mom wants our help,” Charity said.

“In a minute.”

I made my way through the aisle, sidling around the church ladies who murmured about the lack of heart in Pastor Clark’s portion of the service. Someone pulled at my sleeve as I passed and said my name. It may or may not have been Pete Bradshaw, but I didn’t stop to find out. It was like an invisible thread was hooked into my belly and drew me out the doors of the parish and into the parking lot. My pace quickened without any direction from my brain when I saw Daniel hop onto a motorcycle in the far reaches of the lot.

“Daniel!” I called as the engine roared to life.

He shifted forward on the seat of the bike. “You coming?”

“What? No. I can’t.”

“Then why are you here?” Daniel looked at me then, his mud-pie eyes—still splotched with red—searching my face.

I couldn’t stop it—that invisible thread pulled me right up next to him. “You got a helmet?”

“This is Zed’s bike. You wouldn’t want to wear his helmet if he had one.” Daniel booted the kickstand. “I knew you’d come.”

“Shut up,” I said, and climbed on the back of the motorcycle.

ONE HEARTBEAT LATER

The hem of my simple black dress hiked up my legs and my matching Sunday heels suddenly seemed sexy as I placed them on the footrests of the bike. The engine roared again, and the bike went flying forward. I threw my arms around Daniel’s waist.

Cold air clawed at my face, ripping tears from my eyes. I buried my face deep into Daniel’s back and breathed in a mixture of familiar scents—almonds, oil paint, earth, and a hint of varnish. I didn’t even question why I was on that bike. I just knew I was supposed to be there.

We rode in a straight, steady shot for downtown. Daniel’s shoulders tensed and trembled like he craved more speed but was taking it slower for my sake. The sun was drowning in a crimson sunset behind the city skyline when we finally pulled over in a deserted alley in an unfamiliar part of town.

Daniel cut the ignition. The following silence made my ears throb.

“I want to show you something,” he said, and got off the bike with ease. He hopped up onto the curb and kept walking.

Shocking pain surged up my frozen legs when I hit the ground. I wobbled and swayed as I followed, like it had been years since I stood on solid ground. Daniel disappeared around a corner.

“Wait,” I called, trying to pull my more-than-wind-blown hair back into the French twist it had been in before we left the parish.

“It’s not far,” his voice wafted back.

I rounded the corner and went down a dark, narrow alleyway. Daniel stood at the end of the passage in front of two brick pillars and a wrought-iron gate that blocked his path.

“This is my sanctuary.” He grasped one of the iron bars of the gate. A brass plaque on one of the pillars said: BORDEAUX FAMILY MEMORIAL.

“A graveyard?” I hesitantly approached the gate. “You hang out in a graveyard?”

“Most of my friends worship vampires.” Daniel shrugged. “I’ve hung out in a lot of weird places.” I stared at him, openmouthed.

Daniel laughed. “This is a memorial, not a cemetery. There are no graves or dead people—unless you count the security guard. But this is the back entrance, so we shouldn’t run into him.”

“You mean we’re sneaking in?”

“Of course.”

A jangling noise echoed from the street behind us. Daniel grabbed my arm and pulled me into a shadowed alcove of the adjacent building.

“They lock the gates in the evening to keep vandals out.”

His face was so close to mine that his breath grazed my cheek. The deep chill in my bones disappeared and warmth tingled through my body.

“We’ll have to hop the gate and stay out of spotlights.” Daniel leaned his head to the side to check if the way was clear.

“No.” I shrank back in the alcove, feeling colder than ever. “I don’t do stuff like this. I don’t sneak into places, or break laws—even little ones.” At least I tried not to. I really did. “I’m not going to do it.”

Daniel leaned toward me until his warm breath lingered on my face again. “You know, some religious scholars believe that when faced with overwhelming temptation”—he reached out and brushed a tangled strand of hair off my neck—“you should commit a small sin, just to relieve the pressure a bit.”

In the shadows, his eyes seemed darker than usual, and his stare didn’t just make him look hungry—he was starving. His lips were almost close enough to taste.

“That’s stupid. And … and … I don’t need any pressure relieved.” I shoved him away and stepped out of the alcove. “I’m going home.”

“Suit yourself,” Daniel said. “But I’m going in there, and unless you know how to drive a motorcycle, you’ll have a long wait until you can get home.”

“Then I’ll walk!”

“You drive me crazy!” Daniel shouted at my back. He paused for a moment. “I just wanted to show you,” he said, his tone much softer. “You’re one of the only people I know who could truly appreciate this place.”

I stopped. “What’s in there anyway?” I half turned toward him.

“You just have to see for yourself.” He cradled his hands together. “I can give you a boost, if you want.”

“No, thanks.” I took off my heels and flung them over the gate. I shoved my gloves into my coat pockets and mounted the brick pillar, finding a foothold with my barely thawed toes. I climbed up a few feet, grabbed one of the pointed iron fleur-de-lis spikes, and pulled myself up to the top of the pillar.

“I thought you didn’t do this sort of thing,” Daniel said.

“You know I could always climb higher and faster than you boys.” I stood up on top of the pillar and tried not to show that I was just as shocked by my performance as he was. I put my hands on my hips. “You coming?”

Daniel laughed. His feet scraped against the brick as he climbed up behind me.

I felt a bit dizzy as I inspected the at least ten-foot drop down to the other side. Crap, that’s high. I was wondering how I was ever going to get down when I lost my balance and stumbled off the pillar. Before I could shriek, something hard and tight wrapped around my arm, wrenching me to a stop a couple of feet from the ground.

I dangled for a moment, my feet swinging above the frozen earth. I tried to catch my breath before looking up. But I found it even harder to breathe when I saw Daniel kneeling on the top of the pillar, holding me with only one hand. His face was completely smooth and calm, not puckered or creased by the strain of my weight.

His eyes seemed too bright to be real as he stared down at me. “Nice to know you don’t do everything perfect,” he said, and rather than just letting me drop the last two feet, he tightened his grip around my arm and pulled me effortlessly up to meet him on top of the pillar.

“How …?” But I was unable to speak when I looked into his bright eyes.

Daniel wrapped his arms around my trembling body and jumped. He stuck a perfect landing on the gravel inside the memorial, and set me on my feet.

“How … how did you do that?” My legs felt as soft as a couple of well-kneaded putty erasers. My heart beat too fast. “I didn’t know you were so close behind me.”

Or that he was so strong.

Daniel shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of practice climbing since we used to race up the walnut tree.”

Yeah, from sneaking into a lot of places, no doubt.

“But how did you catch me like that?”

Daniel shook his head like my question didn’t matter. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and started down a narrow walkway that stretched in between two tall hedges.

I bent over and slipped my heels on. My head swam a bit when I straightened up. “So what’s so special about this place?”

“Come,” Daniel said.

We walked down the path until it opened into a wide gardenlike expanse. Trees, vines, and bushes, which were probably dotted with blossoms in the springtime, filled the open area. A misty fog swirled around us as we followed the meandering path deeper into the garden.

“Look there,” Daniel said.

I followed his gesture and found myself standing eye to eye with a white-faced man. I gasped and jumped back. The man didn’t move. The fog parted, and I realized he was a statue. I stepped to the edge of the path and studied him closer. He was an angel, not of the cute cherub variety, but a tall, slender, majestic figure, like an elfin prince from The Lord of the Rings. He was dressed in robes, and his face was carved with great detail. His nose was narrow and his jaw was strong, but his eyes looked as though he had seen the wonders of the heavens.

“He’s beautiful.” I ran my hand along one of the statue’s outstretched arms, tracing my finger along the folds of his robe.

“There’s more.” Daniel gestured to the rest of the garden.

Through the fog, I made out more white figures, standing as majestically as the first. Little spotlights shone on their heads from above, making them look particularly divine in the dimming evening light.

I drew in a breath. “The Garden of Angels. I heard someone talking about this place once, but I never knew where it was.” I moved down the path to the next regal statue. This one was a woman with long, beautiful wings that tumbled down her back like Rapunzel’s locks.

Daniel followed behind me as I floated from angel to angel. Some were old and ancient looking. Others were young children with eager faces, but they were still slender and noble like the rest. I stretched up on my toes at the edge of the path to brush another angel’s wings.

Daniel laughed. “You never stray from the path, do you?” He passed close behind me, his arm brushing across the small of my back.

I looked at my toes perched on the border of the gravel trail, and rocked back on my heels. If only he knew how imperfect I felt most days. “Isn’t that supposed to make life easier?”

“Doesn’t that make life boring?” Daniel flashed me a wicked grin as he slipped between two of the statues and disappeared into the mist. A few moments later, he reemerged onto the path near an angel statue that was taller than the rest.

“This place was built as a memorial for Carolyn Bordeaux,” Daniel said, his voice drifting back to me. “She was rich and greedy and hid away her wealth, until one day, in her seventies, she took in a stray dog for no apparent reason. She told people that the dog was an angel in disguise, who revealed to her that she was supposed to help people. After that, she devoted the rest of her life and fortune to helping the needy.”

“Really?” I walked closer to him.

Daniel nodded. “Her family thought she’d gone crazy. They even tried to have her committed. But at the moment she died, an otherworldly chorus of beautiful voices filled her bedroom. Her family thought the angels must have returned to claim Carolyn’s soul, but then they realized the house was surrounded by singing children from the orphanage where Carolyn volunteered. The Bordeaux family was so touched they built this memorial for her. They say there is an angel for each of the people she helped. There are hundreds of them throughout the garden.”

“Wow. How do you know all that?”

“It says it on that plaque over there.” Daniel grinned, as devious as ever.

I laughed. “You had me going there. I was starting to think you were some kind of intellectual, what with all this knowledge of obscure local history and quoting religious scholars.”

Daniel bowed his head. “I had a lot of time to read where I was.”

The air felt thick between us. Did Daniel want me to ask him where he’d been for the last three years? I’d wanted to—since the moment I first saw him. That question was just as important as finding out what happened between him and Jude. No doubt those two answers were connected. I told myself to seize the opportunity—to finally find the answers I needed so I could fix things for good.

I clenched my hands, digging my fingernails into my palms, and asked before I could change my mind, “Where did you go? Where have you been all this time?”

Daniel sighed and looked up at the tall statue next to him. This angel was a young man—early twenties, maybe—who was accompanied by a stone dog that sat at attention at his side. The dog was tall and slender like the angel, its triangular ears stretched to the man’s elbow. It had a long snout, and its bushy coat and tail seemed to get lost in the intricately carved folds of the angel’s robes.

“I went back east. Down south. Out west. Pretty much every other directional cliché you can think of.” Daniel crouched down and studied the dog. “I met him when I was back East. He gave me this.” He brushed his black stone necklace with his fingertips. “He said it would keep me safe.”

“The dog or the angel?” I goaded. I should have known better than to think Daniel would give a straight answer to my question regarding his whereabouts.

Daniel swept his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “I met the man this statue was carved for. Gabriel. I learned a lot from him. He talked about Mrs. Bordeaux and the things she did for other people. He was the one who made me want to come back here. To be close to this place again … and other things.” Daniel stood and sucked in a deep drag of foggy air. “Coming here always gave me such a high.”

“You mean you used to come here to get high,” I said, hazarding a guess.

“Well, yeah.” Daniel laughed and sat on a stone bench.

I instinctively took a step farther away from him.

“But I don’t do that anymore.” He tapped his fingers on his legs. “I’ve been clean for a long time.”

“That’s good.” I dropped my hands to my sides and tried to look casual and unshaken by his admission. I knew that he was no saint. I knew that his life had gone to a dark place long before he’d disappeared. I’d seen him only three times in the six months after he moved away to Oak Park with his mother—the six months that led up to his vanishing altogether. The last of those three times was when the Oak Park public high school called Dad because Daniel had been expelled for fighting. They couldn’t reach his mother, so Dad and I had to escort him home. But in some ways it was like thinking of my own brother doing drugs or something worse.

I glanced at the tall statue of Gabriel the Angel looking down on us. His carved eyes seemed to rest on the crown of Daniel’s head. That thread of curiosity pulled me to the seat next to him on the bench. “Do you believe in angels? Real ones?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think they have feathery wings or anything like that. I think they’re people who do good things even if they get nothing out of it. People like your father … and you.”

I looked up into his glinting eyes. Daniel reached out his hand like he wanted to brush my cheek—little tingles sparked under my skin—but he pulled his hand back and coughed.

“You’re all crazy, if you ask me,” he said.

“Crazy?” My cheeks flamed even hotter.

“I don’t know how you all do it,” he said. “Like Maryanne Duke. She had nothing and she still tried to help people like me. I think she was an angel.”

“Is that why you came to the funeral? For Maryanne?” And not for me?

“I used to stay with Maryanne when things got messy between my parents. If I wasn’t at your house, I was with her. She was always there for me when others weren’t.” Daniel wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. His fingernails were blackened with what looked like marker ink. “I just felt like I should pay my last respects….”

“I guess I forgot. Maryanne took care of a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not special or anything.”

“No. That’s not what I meant…. I’m just sorry I didn’t remember.” I put my hand on his shoulder. He shrank away, and I could barely feel the firmness of his body under the fabric of his coat. “Things were really hard for you. I’m sure Maryanne made you feel—”

“Loved?”

“I guess. Loved, or at least normal.”

Daniel shook his head. “I felt close to loved sometimes. Like when Maryanne read me stories at night, or when I’d sit around the table with your family. There’s nothing like a Divine family dinner to make you feel like someone might care about you. But I never felt normal. Somehow, I always knew I didn’t …”

“Belong?” For some reason I could understand.

“I never did belong, did I?” Daniel reached up and wrapped his long fingers around my wrist. He moved like he was going to cast my hand away, but then he hesitated and turned my hand over, cradling it in both of his. “But I can’t tell you how many times over the last few years I wished I could be eating at that table with your family. Like I could take back everything I did, change things so I could be a part of it again. But that’s impossible, isn’t it?” He traced his warm fingers up the heart line in my open palm, and slipped his fingers in between mine.

It may have been the glimmering from the spotlights or the swirling of the fog, but for a moment he looked like the old Daniel, the one with white-blond hair and mischievous but innocent eyes—like the years had melted away and the darkness had drained out of him. And in that moment, something—an energy—passed between us. Like the thread that had drawn me to him was now a live wire, a lifeline, that bound us together, and I needed to pull him to safety.

“We’re having a big Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow,” I blurted out. “You should come. I want you to.”

Daniel blinked. “You’re freezing,” he said. “We should go inside somewhere.”

Daniel stood up, still holding my hand, and led me down the gravel lane. I didn’t know when he was going to let go of my hand—and I didn’t want him to. And I held on because I knew he needed me.

He finally let go as he stepped off the path and into a patch of decaying plants. “The fence isn’t as high if we go this way,” he said.

I hesitated for a moment on the edge of the path, watching him slip away into the mist. I stepped off the gravel walkway and followed him through the depths of the garden. When we made it to the iron fence, I let him help me over, his hands skimming my waist and legs as I climbed. We walked side by side as we found our way back to the motorcycle. Our fingers brushed once, and I longed for him to take my hand in his again. I climbed on the back of the motorcycle and took in a deep breath of Daniel’s earthy scent as the bike shot into the city night.

A FEW MINUTES LATER

The motorcycle lurched to a stop in front of Daniel’s building. I slammed into his back and almost flew right off into the gutter.

Daniel gripped my thigh and steadied me. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled, and let his hand linger for a moment.

Daniel got off the bike, and I followed. He rested his arm on my shoulder and steered me up the sidewalk and through the doorless entry of the apartment building. My heart thumped so hard as we went up the stairs I feared that Daniel might hear it. The thumping grew louder and heavier as we climbed, and I realized there was music coming from behind a door on the third landing. Daniel put his key in his pocket and tentatively pushed open his door. Sound engulfed us. Gyrating dancers packed the front room, and Zed—looking much more lively than he had before—sang (i.e., screamed) into a microphone while a few other guys banged on musical instruments with reckless abandon.

Daniel led me into the throng. I choked on the sickly sweet smoke wafting in the air. I was coughing and sputtering when this person, who looked more woman than teenage girl, emerged from the crowd. She came toward us, moving and convulsing to the indiscernible beat of Zed’s song. Her short hair feathered out like she was some type of exotic bird, and her bleached white bangs made three perfect triangles on her forehead—the tips of them were dyed a garish shade of pink.

“Danny Boy, you made it,” she said in an Eastern European–sounding accent. She turned her thick kohl-lined eyes on me and plumped her blood-red lips.

Daniel released my shoulder.

“Oh, look”—she took me in from head to toe—“you brought treats. I hope there’s enough to share.”

“Grace, this is Mishka. We knew each other a long time ago,” Daniel said about the female clad in a black leather mini and what I think is called a bustier.

“Not so long, Danny Boy.” She leaned her breasts up against him. “But you were more fun then.” She traced a long, red, talonlike fingernail down his cheek. “You must come with me now.” She pulled Daniel away from my side. “You have kept me waiting, and Mishka is not a patient woman.”

“Come on, Grace.” Daniel held his hand out to me. I was about to slip my fingers into his when Mishka scowled.

“No!” she said. “I do not perform for an audience. This one stays here.”

“I won’t leave her behind.”

Mishka leaned in even closer to Daniel, her gleaming teeth brushed his ear as she spoke. “You and I are the only real players here. Your girl will be fine without you for a few minutes. Mishka will not wait for you any longer, Danny Boy.”

She pulled on his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“Do you need a reminder of how I get when you disappoint me?” She narrowed her eyes and licked her lips.

“No … but Grace …,” he protested halfheartedly.

Mishka turned her glare on me. The irises of her eyes looked jet-black in the apartment’s murky light. She brushed my arm with her talons, and her teeth seemed awfully sharp as she smiled. “You do not mind if I borrow my Danny Boy for a few moments,” she said, but I could have sworn that her lips never moved—like I’d heard her voice inside my head.

“Um … no,” I said, suddenly not minding much of anything. Maybe it was just the sick sweet smoke engulfing the room, but as Mishka stared into my eyes, I couldn’t think, let alone care, about anything.

“That’s a good girl,” Mishka said. She looped her arm through Daniel’s and led him away from me.

Daniel glanced back and said, “Stay put. And don’t talk to anyone.”

At least that’s what I think he said. My brain felt too fuzzy and my tongue felt too heavy to say anything back. I stood there in bewilderment until I was almost knocked flat by someone. I blinked at her through my fog. All I could make out was a girl with green hair and more piercings than face. She stopped “dancing” and leaned in close, squinting her seemingly too-large eyes. She said something I didn’t understand, and I tried to ask her if we knew each other from somewhere. But what came out of my mouth didn’t even sound like words. She stumbled away, laughing hysterically to herself.

I retreated to the dark hallway that led to the bedrooms and took in a few breaths of slightly fresher air. I was about to knock on Daniel’s door when I heard Mishka laughing from behind it. My stomach churned, and as Zed’s noxious song drifted into another melody (this one eerie and pulsing, with Zed breathing heavily into the microphone), my hazy thoughts cleared and I realized that I had been abandoned. Any moment, or connection, or energy that Daniel and I had shared was gone.

“Well, ‘ello there, darling,” a guy said as he approached me from the crowd. “Didn’t expect to see you ‘ere again.” He smirked, and I realized he was one of the foulmouthed guys I’d met here before.

“Neither did I.” I pulled my wool coat closer around my chest. Any sexiness I had felt in my Sunday clothes suddenly felt overly naïve.

“You look like you could use some fun.” His voice was as slippery as a serpent’s. He offered me a plastic cup filled with dark amber-colored booze—something fizzled ominously at the bottom. “I can show you a good time if you’re feeling neglected.”

I waved the cup away. “No, thanks, I was just leaving.”

“That’s what you think.” He slammed his arm out in front of me, blocking my escape. “This party’s just starting.” He tried to brush his cup-filled hand where it didn’t belong.

I dove under his arm and through the crowd to the door. The green-haired girl teetered in the open doorway. She slurred a nasty name at me as I pushed past her. I went down the stairs and out of the building. I listened carefully at the exit, and when I heard footsteps on the metal stairs, I bolted down Markham Street.

My luck must have turned because as I came to the end of the block, a bus headed in the direction of home pulled up to the curb. I bounded up the steps when the doors swung open and prayed I had enough money for the fare. The driver grumbled as I counted out my change, but I had enough, with thirty-five cents left to spare.

The bus was almost empty, except for a couple of grizzly men shouting at each other in a language that reminded me of Mishka’s accent, and a forty-something-year-old guy with bottle-thick glasses who cradled a baby doll in his arms and crooned to it in deep, fatherly tones. I took a seat in the back and hugged my knees to my chest. The bus lurched and jolted and smelled faintly of urine, but I felt safer there than I had in that apartment’s hallway.

I couldn’t believe that Daniel had abandoned me to those people. Couldn’t believe that I went with him into his apartment in the first place. What might have happened if it hadn’t been for that party? But mostly, I was ashamed that part of me had wanted something to happen.

Temptation bites.

HOME AGAIN

I rode the bus until it pulled into the stop by the school. I used the last of my spare change to call April from a pay phone, but she didn’t answer. It wasn’t too hard to guess who might have been distracting her at the time.

I pulled my coat tight around my body and walked home as quickly as I could in my heels—feeling the whole time like that nasty guy from the party was following me. I slipped into the house and hoped to sneak up to my room without being noticed. Like I could pretend I’d been in bed all along. But Mom must have heard the soft click of the door closing because she called me into the kitchen before I had a chance to disappear up the stairs.

“Where have you been?” she asked, sounding more than a little annoyed. I watched her rip thick slices of bread into chunks to dry overnight for Thanksgiving stuffing. “You were supposed to help serve dinner after the funeral.” Apparently, it wasn’t late enough in the evening for her to be worried about my safety—but plenty late enough for her to be ticked off about my absence.

“I know,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“First you disappear, and then Jude.” She grabbed another slice of bread and tore into it with her fingers. “Do you know how it looked to have half of our family missing from the dinner? And your father nearly threw out his back putting away chairs while you two were out gallivanting with your friends.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” I turned to leave the kitchen.

“You’re darn right you will. We’ve got at least twenty people coming for Thanksgiving tomorrow. You’re doing the pies, and then you’ll scrub the floors. Your brother will get his own list of chores.”

For a moment I contemplated bringing up the chem test I needed signed since I was already in trouble—but decided not to push it. Mom can get pretty elaborate with chore assignments when she’s aggravated. “Okay,” I said. “That’s fair.”

“Set your alarm for five forty-five!” Mom called as I headed toward the stairs.

Seriously, like I needed another reason to curse my impulsive decisions at that moment.