Wendy stomped across the yard to the back door. She went inside and slammed the sliding glass door behind her. When she turned, she saw someone standing by the sink and jumped so hard that she stumbled back.
Mrs. Darling was standing there, dressed in her scrubs with two glasses in her hands.
“Mom, hi,” Wendy said, breathing a heavy sigh. She paused. How long had she been there? Had she seen her and Peter coming out of the woods? Or her fight with Jordan? “When did you get home?”
Mrs. Darling gave her a small smile as she reached up to put the glasses away in the cupboard. “Just a few minutes ago. Your father is upstairs taking a shower,” she said, drying her hands off on a tea towel. She looked past Wendy into the backyard. She smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt. “I saw that you and Jordan were talking, so I thought I shouldn’t bother you.” Her delicate eyebrows lifted. “It looked like a pretty heated discussion,” she said. The inflection in her voice posed it as a question.
“We were fighting,” Wendy said. Frustration dug its way back under her skin.
The corners of Mrs. Darling’s lips pulled down into a frown. “You guys don’t usually fight. That’s not normal for you two…”
Wendy’s mom was right, of course. The biggest arguments she and Jordan usually got into were about what movie they were going to watch on Friday nights. “A lot of things aren’t normal these days,” she muttered.
This was the closest Wendy had come to asking her mother for advice in what seemed like ages. She hardly knew how to ask anymore, and it was clear that Mrs. Darling wasn’t sure how to give it. She fiddled with the tea towel, twisting a corner around her finger. “I’m sure it’ll blow over. Maybe you two just need some time to cool off?”
Wendy sighed. “Probably.” Though she wasn’t sure she believed that. Maybe she just needed to keep Jordan at a distance until this was all over with. For Jordan’s own sake.
Mrs. Darling pressed her lips together. Wendy thought maybe she had something else that she wanted to say. But she just sighed and tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear. “I was going to make grilled cheese and tomato soup,” she said. “How does that sound?”
Wendy blinked. “Really?”
Mrs. Darling nodded in reply.
Usually, Wendy did all of the cooking in the house. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had cooked anything, besides reheating leftovers. Even if it was grilled cheese made with processed yellow squares, white bread, and condensed soup, it still felt … oddly domestic. “That sounds great, Mom.”
“Great.” Mrs. Darling turned to the cupboards and pulled out a can of tomato soup. “You should probably change into some dry clothes before we eat,” she said, cutting a knowing look to Wendy.
She looked down at herself. She was still soaked. A small puddle of water had gathered beneath her shoes.
* * *
A couple hours later, Wendy headed up to her room for the night, smelling of soap and with a belly full of deliciously greasy cheese. Mr. Darling had taken his dinner in his study, claiming he had work to make up after starting late today. As she and Mrs. Darling ate at the dining room table, the sound of clinking glass came from behind the door.
Wendy’s mother liked to read while she ate dinner, with her small, square-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. Tonight’s pick was The Turn of the Screw. She’d only looked up to say good night when Wendy announced she was going to bed early.
Once in her room, Wendy threw herself onto her bed. Lying on her back, she stared up at the fairy lights. She wondered if Jordan had texted her. She dug her phone out of her pocket, but there was nothing.
What did she expect? An apology? It wasn’t like Jordan had anything to apologize for. As much as Wendy hated to admit it, everything Jordan had accused her of was right. She was the one suddenly acting weird, and she was taking her frustrations out on Jordan. She tossed her phone onto the nightstand.
Wendy’s mind wandered to Peter. She wondered if he was okay, secluded in the woods with the shadow gaining power with each passing moment. She grew worried, thinking about him alone in that dingy hunting shack. Maybe she should have asked him to stay. The thought made her shift uneasily. That would be awkward. Where would he sleep without her parents knowing? In her truck? That didn’t seem much better. Clearly the shadow had no problems with lurking around her driveway.
Either way, there was nothing she could do about it tonight. She and Peter hadn’t had time to arrange a place and time to meet tomorrow because Jordan showed up, so, once again, she’d have to just wait and hope.