What the hell? Is mom actually trying to cook something?
Claire stumbled out of bed and dragged herself downstairs to see what was going on. Lisbeth stood in the kitchen, dressed in lounge pants and an old T-shirt. She was halfway through cooking what looked like an omelet.
"Uh, morning," Claire croaked.
Lisbeth whipped around, her face a strange mix of happiness and irritation. "Oh, hi, Claire-bear."
Claire frowned at the nickname. It was cute when she was younger, but now it was just irritating. "Um, what are you doing here? It's Sunday," Claire pointed out, sliding onto one of the high stools around the island. "I know. Your mother called me early this morning to see if I could come stay for a day or two. Apparently, her dinner last night went so well that they all decided to fly to New York for some editorial meetings. They left late last night." She flipped the eggs in the pan with more force than was really necessary. "She didn't think it would be a good idea for you to be alone for too many days, even if she did leave you with the car keys." Sarcasm hardened Lisbeth's usually mellow voice. "I just don't get why she didn't call me before she went. What if something had happened to you last night?" She shook her head, clearly frustrated with Marie.
Claire shrugged. "Nothing did. It's fine, Lisbeth."
The truth was, if something had happened during the night, they had fire alarms and working telephones, and if someone had somehow gotten into the house, Claire was more than capable of defending herself. The real reason her mom wanted Lisbeth around was so that there would be someone to report back on what Claire did. For all her mom's proclamations about trusting Claire, she couldn't stand not being in control. Even if it meant using Lisbeth as a standin.
Claire rubbed her sleep-gritty eyes. It could be worse. She loved Lisbeth, and it would be nice to have some time together, just the two of them. Like old times. Besides, Lisbeth slept like the dead. Claire had snuck out plenty of times when Lisbeth lived at the house. She'd be able to get into the forest to practice without any trouble, and that's all that really counted. She glanced out the window and noticed for the first time that rain was splattering against the glass, filling the dip in the pool's off-season cover.
Crap. There was no way she could practice in the rain. Crap. Crap. Crap.
She ran a hand across her forehead. Matthew's stress was over. His goal had won the game, and if UCLA had any sense, they'd be sending him a scholarship offer as fast as they could type it up. He had to be feeling fantastic this morning, facing a day with no pressure, no stress.
But Claire still couldn't light a fire, not the right way, and the new moon was barely more than a week away. The calendar weighed on her. The rain mocked her. And the worry about what it would mean if she failed burned through her veins, hot and achy and terrifying in its hugeness.
Lisbeth slid the enormous, fluffy omelet in front of Claire, interrupting her descent into a full-blown panic attack.
"I guess you probably want some of that vile coffee." She shuddered.
"Yeah, but I can make it."
"No." Lisbeth shooed her back into her seat."Eat that before it gets cold. It won't kill me to make you one pot of coffee." She pulled the grounds out of the pantry. Claire took a tiny bite of her breakfast. It was delicious. Perfect.
But she'd completely lost her appetite.
She sighed and pushed away the plate.
*
Hour after hour, the rain poured down. By late morning the constant tapping of the drops had made her restless and edgy. She knew that Matthew had to be exhausted, and she didn't want to call him and wake him up. She settled for sending him a "call me when you're up" text.
She'd promised she'd give Emily any major gossip from Louie's, and the whole KateMarie Brown/Doug Kingman thing definitely counted. Claire picked up the phone and snuggled down into the couch, looking forward to a long session of rehashing the night before. The rain might be keeping her out of the forest, but it did have a bright side.
Emily answered immediately.
"Hey! You're alive! How was it?"
"Good—I mean, the match was fantastic, and then Louie's was fun. But I'm calling because I have serious news about KateMarie Brown for you."
"Oh, yesssss. Why don't you come over? We're having pancakes. Gossip is always better with maple syrup." Claire could practically hear Emily jumping up and down. And her mom's pancakes were legendary. Claire's appetite came roaring back. She had eaten those pancakes a hundred different times on a hundred different Sunday mornings, and the idea of something so familiar made her mouth water almost as much as the thought of the batter sizzling on the griddle.
"I'll be there as soon as I can get Lisbeth in the car."