“Hey, Willa.” Mr. Crawford naturally took the lead as he sank to the edge of the seat beside her. “Your mother is here.”
Juniper felt the pinch of that word in her chest and wished she could ask Henry to take it back. But what was he supposed to call her? Willa called her both “Mom” and “June.” One was natural, the other forced. Juniper had never been able to determine which was which—or how much Reb and Law had coached Willa one way or the other.
“I’m not going with her.” Willa’s voice was muffled, but there was no mistaking the words.
Juniper sank to the edge of the remaining chair and caught Henry’s gaze. “Have you…？” she began, unsure of how to finish.
“Willa knows about Jonathan’s accident,” Henry assured her, guessing the question so she didn’t have to voice it. Juniper was grateful for both his competency and the way he said “accident” without hesitation or insinuation. “Our school counselor, Linda, has already been by to see her, but Willa says she doesn’t want to talk about it just yet.”
Juniper took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Willa, Grandma wants me to take you home. We all think it’s best if you stay with me for a while—at least until Grandma and Grandpa come home from the hospital.”
“No.”
Henry gave Juniper a little nod of encouragement.
“It’s just that there’s nowhere else for you to go right now.” She tried a different tack. “Grandma and Grandpa will be home soon, and then you can go back to the farmhouse, but for now they need to be with Jonathan. And I guess that leaves you with me.”
“I’ll stay with Zoe.”
A friend? Juniper felt guilty that she didn’t even know for sure. “We all think you should be with family right now.”
This made Willa lift her head.
“And you’re family?”
She fixed her mother with a withering look, and Juniper nearly melted beneath the icy heat of those hazel eyes. How could an eighth grader pull off a look of such contempt?
“Hey, now,” Mr. Crawford cut in. “That’s no way to speak to your mom.”
Willa turned her laser gaze on him.
“I’m serious, young lady.” He leaned in, ignoring her death look. “I know you’re upset, but I expect better from you.”
She put her head back down but didn’t say anything more.
Juniper cleared her throat. “Why don’t we go grab lunch somewhere? We could drive to Munroe or—”
“I’m fine,” Willa cut in. “I’m staying here.”
Losing her will, Juniper turned to Henry. “Is that okay?” she said. “I mean, do you think that’s wise?”
He shrugged. “I suppose Willa can decide what she feels up for. Right, Willa? You can’t sit in my office all day, but if you’d like to return to your class and be with your friends—and if your mother approves—I don’t see why you shouldn’t.” He turned his attention to Juniper. “You don’t have plans to go to the hospital?”
“No. Not yet. Just waiting to hear more…” Juniper trailed off, uncertain what else to say. She was painfully aware that she had been left behind, barely even considered when her family rushed off to comfort and support one another.
However, if she was being honest with herself, Juniper was kind of glad to have been abandoned. Navigating the strained relationships within her family was difficult at the best of times. Surely the trauma of Jonathan’s dire situation would only make matters worse. Juniper felt a stab of guilt at her own pragmatism, and the knife twisted deeper when she realized that time alone with Willa was exactly what she had hoped for all along. Too bad her daughter wasn’t about to make it easy.
“Well, okay.” Henry gave his knees an authoritative pat. “Willa, you’re welcome to go back to class. I believe the eighth graders are in the art room for third period?”
Willa nodded.
“And your mother will be here after school to pick you up.”
It wasn’t a question, and though Willa rolled her eyes, she didn’t argue. She slowly put her feet on the ground and reached beside her chair for the backpack she had dropped there. It was blue plaid and she had affixed a Breckenridge key chain to the zipper. Juniper instantly noticed the telltale green-and-white Colorado license plate design and felt a trill of hope. She had sent that key chain in a care package months ago. Maybe it was feeble to pin her faith on something so small, but Willa hadn’t thrown her gift away. Instead she saw it—she used it—every day. Maybe, Juniper wished, it was a token of their connection, tenuous though it may be.