Someone was trying the door handle. ‘Hope?’ Meredith asked quietly. Hope curled up in the cool sheet and turned on her side, back to the door. The handle clicked again. ‘I thought we agreed we’d never lock our doors. Never shut each other out.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ll be back later, and we can talk then, before dinner.’ Can’t wait. As her mother’s footsteps retreated, Hope rolled over, then groaned at the memory of the previous evening, of coming round on the sofa and being forced to drink sweet tea while Meredith fussed and the Crows stood around awkwardly. Of stubbornly saying nothing and, as soon as she could manage the stairs, going to bed without looking at any of them. She checked her watch. Just before seven. Climbing out of bed, she padded down the stairs and went into the kitchen. She put the kettle on the stove, trying to work out how to get the gas lit. ‘Hey.’ Cal came through the glass doors, looking fresh and smelling of the outdoors. Hope concentrated on the stove.
