Clare’s knees buckled, and she sat down heavily on the steps, afraid to go any farther. For the last hour she’d begun to believe that Ellie’s visit might be all right. That she could just confess to “fudging a bit” when she’d described her new place. But her first whiff of scorched feathers had cruelly snatched that dream away. This was all her fault for lying in the first place. For trying to pretend that she wasn’t poor Clare anymore. “Oh, my God. What have you done, Tucker?” Sam looked behind him and then apologetically back at her. He held one hand out as though to stop her. “Nothing that William can’t fix.” His words sent her heart plummeting toward her toes and galvanized her into action. With every step, the smell of singed feathers became stronger. By the time she reached Sam, she wanted to wring his neck. Wisely, Sam stepped out of her way. Sam thought he was watching a slow motion movie as Clare pulled the dryer open, dispensing more feathers as she retrieved an empty pillow cover.
