Bade circled the table where we were sitting, finally settling on a spot beside Marian.
Lena looked at me, and I could tell she didn’t want to leave me alone with Liv and Marian, but she didn’t want to let Macon down either. Especially not when he was asking for her help, instead of Liv’s.
Go on, L. It’s fine. I don’t mind.
Her answer was a very public kiss and a meaningful look at Liv. Then they were gone.
After they left, I sat in the archive with Liv and Marian, drawing out the moment as long as we could. I couldn’t remember the last time the three of us were alone together, and I missed it. Liv and Marian tossing around quotes, and me always coming up with the wrong answer.
Liv finally stood up. “I have to go. I don’t want you to get in any more trouble.”
Marian stared into the bottom of her teacup. “Olivia, don’t you think I could have stopped you if I’d wanted to?”
Liv looked like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “You weren’t even there when I helped Ethan release Macon from the Arclight.”
“I was there when you took off into the Tunnels with Ethan and Link. I could’ve stopped you then.” Marian took a shaky breath. “But I had a friend once, too. And if I could turn back the clock—if there was anything I could’ve done to save her—I would have done it. Now she’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do to get her back.”
I squeezed Marian’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” Liv said. “And I’m sorry I got you into so much trouble. I wish I could persuade them to leave you alone.”
“You can’t. No one can. Sometimes everyone does the right thing and there’s still a mess left to clean up. Someone has to take responsibility for it.”
Liv stared at a water-stained box on the floor. “It should be me.”
“I disagree. This is my chance to help another friend, one I love very much.” Marian smiled and reached for Liv’s hand. “And there has to be at least one librarian in this town—Keeper or not.”
Liv threw her arms around Marian and hugged her like she was never going to let go. Marian gave Liv one last squeeze and looked over at me. “EW, I’d appreciate it if you would see Liv back to Ravenwood. If I gave her my car, I’m afraid it would end up on the wrong side of the road.”
I hugged Marian, whispering to her as I did. “Be careful.”
“I always am.”
We had to make a lot of detours to get anywhere in Gatlin now. So five minutes later, I was driving past my own house, with Liv in the passenger seat—like we were on our way to deliver library books or stop at the Dar-ee Keen. Like it was last summer.
But the overwhelming brown of everything and the buzzing of ten thousand lubbers reminded me it wasn’t.
“I can almost smell the pie from here,” Liv said, looking toward my house longingly.
I glanced at the open window. “Amma hasn’t made a pie in a while, but you can probably smell her pecan fried chicken.”
Liv groaned. “You’ve no idea what it’s like living in the Tunnels, especially when Kitchen is out of sorts. I’ve been living on my stash of HobNobs for weeks now. If I don’t get another package soon, I’m doomed.”
“You know, there is a little thing called the Stop & Steal around here,” I said.
“I know. There’s also a little thing called Amma’s homemade fried chicken.”
I knew where this conversation was heading all along and was halfway to the curb by the time she said it. “Come on. I bet you ten bucks she made biscuits, too.”
“You had me at ‘fried.’ ”
Amma gave Liv all the thighs, so I knew she was still feeling sorry for Liv after last summer. Luckily, the Sisters were asleep. I didn’t feel like answering questions about why there was a girl at my house who wasn’t Lena.
Liv stuffed her face faster than Link in his prime. By the time I was on my third piece, she was on her second plateful.
“This is the second-best piece of fried chicken I’ve ever tasted in my life.” Liv was actually licking her fingers.
“Second best?” I was the one who said it, but I saw Amma’s face when I did. Because by Gatlin standards, those two words alone were blasphemy. “What’s better?”
“The piece I’m about to have. And possibly the piece after that.” She slid her empty plate across the table.
I could see Amma smiling to herself as she added more Wesson oil to her five-gallon pot. “Wait till you taste a batch right outta the fryer. Can’t say you’ve tried that, have you, Olivia?”
“No, ma’am. But I also haven’t had any homemade food since the Seventeenth Moon.” There it was again. The familiar cloud settled back over the kitchen, and I pushed my plate away. The extra-crispy crust was choking me.
Amma dried the One-Eyed Menace with a dishrag. “Ethan Lawson Wate. You go get our friend some a my best preserves. Back a the panty. Top shelf.”
“Yes, ma’am.”