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.
“We have a busy day today,” Barry said, turning toward the library floor and talking over his shoulder as if he expected Juniper to follow. She did. “Mom and Tot Hour is at ten. I’ve taken the liberty of picking a book out for you since you won’t know what Cora’s been doing the last several weeks.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out,” Juniper tried. “Maybe you should do it just this once, and I’ll watch.”
Barry gave her a flat look over the rim of his glasses and thrust a binder at her. There was a glossy children’s book on top. “I don’t think so. This afternoon we have the Heritage Society meeting, and it will take me all morning to get everything ready.”
Juniper took the binder and the book, dismayed by the fact that she would be reading and singing and leading chants with toddlers in just a couple of hours. Still, winging it would be worse, so she flipped through the binder and picked out a few activities so that she was ready to go when the clock hit 9:45 and the moms started rolling in.
The children’s area was set up with a low stool for Juniper, a stack of carpet squares for the kids and their moms, and a plastic tote with hand puppets that had seen better days. As she tented the book on top of the stool she would soon occupy, Juniper found herself surreptitiously studying the women who had started to crowd the small library. The quiet space was bustling with activity. Apparently, the unwritten dress code was athleisure and high ponytails, and the women were all sleek curves and plummy lip gloss. They were also all near Juniper’s age, which was what she had been worried about all along. Surely there were women she knew in this group. Women she had gone to high school with and who would recognize her and ask seemingly innocuous questions that would make her wither with shame. What have you been up to since graduation? Are you married? Kids? Oh, Willa, of course…
Juniper was nearly stiff with dread when the ladies had finished hanging up their coats and chatting and began to make their way to the children’s section. They came with kids on their hips and travel mugs in hand, and broke into surprised grins when they caught sight of Juniper. It was clear that Cora had kept her promise and hadn’t disclosed their agreement; Juniper hadn’t wanted to make a big deal of her imminent arrival in Jericho, and begged Cora not to broadcast it.
“June Baker, is that you? Oh my goodness!” One of the women broke away from the group and stepped over the semicircles of carpet squares to give Juniper a one-armed hug.
Pressed between someone whose name she couldn’t recall and a chubby two-year-old with strawberry blond curls, Juniper scraped the bottom of her resolve. She came up with a thin, determined smile on her face. “It’s nice to see you,” she said.
“India Abbot,” the woman offered, readjusting her baby and studying Juniper with bald curiosity. “You probably don’t remember me. I was a bit behind you in school. What are you doing here?”
“Mom and Tot Hour,” Juniper said, but she was being obtuse and immediately regretted it.
India’s eyes went wide. “But, I mean, your brother…”