“Sorry, Willa. I didn’t know,” Juniper said when she was settled in the driver’s seat. “I’m new at this.”
Willa had already buckled her seat belt and was staring out the window with her arms crossed over her chest. “Whatever.”
Juniper put on her blinker and merged out of the parking lane, allowing herself to focus on what passed for rush hour in Jericho: a couple dozen minivans lined up in front of the school. As she waited for her turn at the stop sign, she contemplated driving to Cunningham’s for a hot chocolate, or maybe to the grocery store so they could pick out a treat together. It seemed like a motherly thing to do. But it was obvious that although Willa was complying, it was under protest. Juniper didn’t want to stir the pot. So she drove to the farm and waited in the car while Willa gathered up a few overnight things, then took her back to the bungalow.
Juniper had made up the futon in the spare room with the bedding from the farmhouse, but the room still looked like something from a seventies horror flick. Shag carpet, wood paneling, the faint odor of mothballs and damp drywall. It was a dismal offering.
“This is just temporary,” Juniper reminded Willa, but she was really talking to herself. She hoped—prayed—the anger and distrust that frothed off Willa would recede.
When Willa didn’t say anything, Juniper tried again. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I always came home from school absolutely starv—”
“I’m fine,” Willa cut her off.
“Okay. How about—”
“I have a lot of homework,” Willa said pointedly.
So Juniper backed out of the small room, nearly losing a finger when Willa threw the door shut behind her. For the rest of the afternoon she found herself staring at the handle, willing it to turn, until she couldn’t take it anymore and finally called Willa into the kitchen for supper. They ate beef stew that Cora had dropped off and crusty bread warmed up in the oven with cold butter, but Willa only picked at it, spearing the odd carrot or hunk of potato and then sliding it off the tines of her fork against the edge of her bowl.
They only attempted conversation once, when Willa sucked in a shaky breath and dared to ask: “Is Uncle Jonathan going to be okay?”
Juniper couldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know. Reb—Grandma—called a while ago to tell me that he’s stable.” How much to tell her? How much to hold back? Willa was a teenager, but could she handle the news that her beloved uncle, the man who stepped in as a father figure when she was still an infant, was in a medically induced coma and fighting for his life? It felt like too much. Juniper settled on: “They’re doing everything they can.”
Willa absorbed this without so much as a blink, and retreated to her bedroom as soon as Juniper gave her a nod. When Reb phoned later that evening with an update on Jonathan （no change）， Juniper didn’t even bother to tell Willa. The light in her room had already been shut off.
* * *
By the time Juniper dropped Willa off at school the following morning, she was eager to be rid of her and sick with guilt that she felt so exasperated by her own flesh and blood. Juniper could hardly wait to talk to Cora—to confide her fears and failings and get some much-needed motherly encouragement and advice. But even though the library door was unlocked and the lights were on, Cora wasn’t in her office when Juniper arrived.
“You must be the new girl,” someone said as she peered into the small staff room for a clue to Cora’s whereabouts.
Juniper startled at the unfamiliar voice and spun around to find a stocky man with horn-rimmed glasses and a Mr. Rogers–style cardigan holding out his hand.
“Barry,” she said, shaking his warm fingers and trying to hide her disappointment. “I’m Juniper.” She had never met Barry in person, though they were Facebook friends and she had heard plenty of stories about him from Cora over the years. He was unctuous and a bit self-important, prone to writing rambling updates about his political views and posting almost daily links to his book review blog, which seemed to have a single reader: his mother. Cora kept him around because he was reliable and loved the library, his two best characteristics.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” Barry said.
“You too.” Juniper managed a shadow of a smile before asking, “Where’s Cora?”
“She’s not feeling well this morning,” he said. “Texted to ask if I could open up for her.”
Juniper felt a prick of disappointment that Cora had chosen to reach out to Barry instead of her, but she reminded herself that she couldn’t have come earlier anyway. Juniper had Willa to take care of now.