“I didn’t think it was a big deal. She said hi, I said hi. I told Emily that Victoria was someone you knew, which wasn’t exactly giving anything away, since you know pretty much everyone. Victoria didn’t act like I’d screwed anything up, so I don’t know why you’re freaking out.”
“I’m not ‘freaking out,’ as you so eloquently put it. I’m trying to protect you. Any pack interaction in the human world is an occasion for caution. What if someone overheard something? If they became suspicious, they could make a report to the FHPA. And that would be disastrous. You see? This is exactly why I don’t think you should be close with Zahlia. It’s too easy to make a mistake.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “But—what about Beatrice and Victoria? They’re close.”
Her mother laughed softly and leaned against the bedpost. “That is true. But, then, they are mother and daughter.”
Something Claire hadn’t quite put together before slid into place in her mind.
“Why isn’t everyone’s mom part of the pack? I mean, you and I are related, and Victoria is Beatrice’s daughter, but Zahlia and Judith and Katherine are all by themselves.”
“Judith and Katherine moved here years ago, after their own mothers died—the packs in their areas became too small to survive. Zahlia’s mother used to belong to our pack.” Claire’s mother twisted the sliver bangle on her wrist, her eyebrows sinking low over her eyes. “Her mother was second to Beatrice in our pack, and Zahlia was right behind her. But then—well. Something happened, and she left the pack to become a lone wolf, une seule. Zahlia also paid for her mother’s carelessness by losing her own position. I became the second.”
Claire blinked in surprise. “Wow. She never told me any of that.”
“I imagine there are many things Zahlia hasn’t told you. Which would be yet another reason for you to distance yourself from her.”
“But she’s the only one who’s even answered my freaking questions. I can’t do this all by myself, and you never want to help me! I mean, Victoria has Beatrice, but I—” Claire snapped her mouth shut, cutting off the rest of the sentence.
“We have never been close, have we?” A wistful look crossed Marie’s face.
Claire shrugged, staring down at her hands. “I guess not.”
“It is hard, raising another while always hiding. You are right—I am your mother, and whether or not you believe it, I do want to help you. But only when the time is right, Claire. And right now the best help I can offer is to advise you to distance yourself from Zahlia.”
“But it’s not an order.”
“Not now. But if I have to go to Beatrice, I will. So. I hope you will be joining Lisbeth and me for dinner tonight?”
Claire frowned. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
Her mother left the room and Claire rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in the comforter. Sometimes, she really, really hated her mom.
Just before dinner, Emily’s car pulled up to the house. Claire hurried down the stairs to meet her.
“You’re here! I thought I was going to have to say good-bye on the phone!”
Emily grinned. “I told them if I couldn’t come see you, I was going to do something horrible.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno.” Emily shrugged. “They didn’t ask—they’re too freaked out to be logical at this point. I can only stay for a minute, though.”
Tears filled Claire’s eyes and she sniffed. “I can’t believe you’re really going.”
Emily looked up at the ceiling and blinked. “It’s not like I want to. Oh my God, I am not going to cry. I have on way too much mascara to start crying.”
Claire swiped at her eyes, fighting to control herself. “I mean, hey, it’s not like we aren’t going to talk, right?”
“I made my parents switch my cell plan to unlimited minutes.” Emily said proudly. “Okay. I have to go. I just came over to give you a hug.”
Claire wrapped her arms around her best friend. How much different would she be by the time Emily got back?
What if things are never like this again?
“Hey, I said ‘hug,’ not ‘crack my ribs,’” Emily said, straightening up and forcing a smile. “Call me, okay?”
“I will.”
“So …”
“Don’t say it. Just go.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Better that way.” Emily slid on her sunglasses and walked out to the car.
Claire watched her go, the lump in her throat getting bigger with every step Emily took.
She didn’t want to watch Emily drive away. Taking the stairs two at a time, Claire bolted up the steps and into her bedroom, where she could fall apart in private.
Three days later, Claire stood in her room, sorting dirty laundry into piles. She’d actually made it out of bed before noon, since she’d been stuck in the house for almost seventy-two hours, trying to make her mom less suspicious. Lisbeth had been so excited to see her while it was still morning that she’d made pancakes.
The phone rang and Claire looked at the screen. Crap.
“Hello?” she braced herself.
“Thanks a lot,” Emily huffed.