Unwelcome morning light poured into the Wood residence through the top windows, refusing to stay. Margo perched on the edge of her chair. The silence cut through the grandfather clock's tick, ringing in her ears.
The table was loaded. Plates of eggs and toast, fruit sliced in welcoming patterns. None of them were touched. Mr. Wood sat back, arms folded, the jaw working. The way Mrs. Wood sloshed her tea hinted at calculation of poison. Margo looked at one and the other, stomach twisted up.
"Wouldn't you guys talk?"
Her father's eyes met hers, face blank and creepy.
"eat"
"I'm not hungry."
"eat."
Margo pushed her plate away. "Why are there clothes on the living room floor?"
No reply.
"Why is my suitcase packed up?"
The truth had apparently poisoned her lips; her mother got up and wiped them clean.
She told him, "You'll be gone a long time."
"Where?" Margo broke in, voice shaking.
Mr. Wood got up too. His voice was low and menacing. "You're being adopted."
"What?" Her voice climbed in pitch. "You—you can't adopt me. You're my parents."
Mrs. Wood whirled around, her eyes flashing with anger. "We were your parents. Now we're two people who detest being lied to, humiliated, and played with."
"It was only one fight!" Margo wailed. "Julia didn't deserve to be blamed but I—I lost my temper. I was afraid!"
"You stood there and let her walk out. You let her take the blame." Her father hit his hand on the table. "You made your bed, Margo."
"I was a child!" she shrieked.
"You are still," her mother spat. "A spoiled one."
Sorry! Sorry!" Margo wailed now, voice shaking across the room. "Don't do this."
They did not heed.
She attempted to run, attempt to grasp the banister rail and hold on for dear life like it was the last branch clung to a dying tree—but her father pulled her back. Her mother struck her when she screamed. Not hard. Just enough so that she could taste metal.
Margo kicked and scratched in the car, screaming like shattering glass.
"YOU HATE ME!" she screamed. "I HOPE YOU BOTH DIE MISERABLE!"
Mrs. Wood didn't look around. Mr. Wood had his eyes straight down the highway, jaws clenched like the jaws of hell.
The adoption center was pale and unblemished—unblemished like a thing trying to conceal what filth lay hidden beneath. They spoke to her as if she were a box to be shipped. Margo's hands couldn't quit shaking.
A woman whose paper smile cranked out between sentences said, "We're so glad to finally meet you, dear."
She did not say a word. They took her to a room full of pastel-colored blankets and flower stickers on the wall, praying that would strangle the betrayal creeping still in her heart.
She wept for three days.
No one could get to her. Not even the other kids who stuck their faces in with faces full of wary interest. She ate little. Wouldn't talk. Just huddled under the light blanket and called out Julia's name into the darkness.
"Hello."
It was the fourth day. A woman's voice—gentle, warm, tentative.
Margo opened her eyes onto the sight of an expensive suit, a formal woman in a red coat, freckles on her skin, and a kindness in her eyes that was alien.
"I'm Lindsay! Lindsay Anderson."
Margo remained silent.
Lindsay sat beside Margo, not wishing to invade her space.
"I adopted. They said I should talk to you." She smiled gently. "You looked like you needed someone. I. I needed someone too."
Silence again.
"I know it hurts," she said to him. "But I won't try to understand your pain. I just hope. I can share it."
Margo blinked. Tears ran unbidden.
Lindsay spread her arms.
Margo rushed into them.
The drive to Canada was long. The trees whizzed by like silent onlookers, and the air was fresher the farther away from the city they got.
"Do you want music?" Lindsay asked.
Margo shook her head.
"May I ask about the past? Just if you're ready."
Margo nodded slowly. She told her everything. About Julia. About the lie. About the screaming. The betrayal.
Lindsay never interrupted.
When she was done, Margo wrapped herself into the passenger seat and breathed, "I deserved it."
"No," Lindsay breathed. "They failed you. And now. you deserve love again."
Margo sniffled. "Do you think there are ghosts?"
Lindsay looked at her. "Why did you ask?"
Margo gazed out the window. There was a boy in the field, at the very edge of the fence. He waved, his eyes unutterably dark. But he was lovely, too. He smiled.
She blinked, and he wasn't there.
"No reason," she said quietly.
Lindsay's house was very different from the Wood mansion. It was smaller, with creaky floorboards and books piled up in every corner. But it was warm. Warm like a hug. Like cinnamon in winter.
"This is your room," Lindsay said, opening a door. There was a light pink canopy bed, shelves lined with plushies, and fairy lights that hung like stars.
Margo gasped. "It's. so cool. And cute."
"I figured you'd like it." Lindsay smiled. "You'll be going to school in a little while. Okay with you?"
Margo nodded.
She hugged her pillow that night, her eyes soft because she hadn't felt this for a very long time.
Hope.