If Maggie thought Deacon was good-looking, she had no idea. Next to Jeffrey, Deacon was ordinary, nothing but a guy with shiny mother-of-pearl buttons and a pair of scuffed-up cowboy boots. But Avis held her tongue, keeping her new living situation a secret from the girl who had, up until recently, been her only friend. It was that very evasiveness that had her skittering to the window when a pair of headlights slashed across the window glass.
Jeffrey was sitting on the couch with Clover and Gypsy at his feet when the light cut across the living room wall. They were watching a random TV show Kenzie had found in the TV Guide. Kenzie—the sultan of music—was also the one who picked out the evening’s entertainment. He chose the shows, was in charge of the volume knob, and never once let the TV rest on something as boring as the local news.
For a second, Avis convinced herself of the worst: those headlights probably belonged to her father. In the two years she’d been living on her own, he’d checked up on her only once. But maybe he’d gotten a wild hair. Perhaps something had compelled him to make the drive down from Seattle. And now he’d find a house—his house—full of peace-preaching hippies, the type of people he swore were screwing up the world.
Trying to keep her sudden bout of anxiety under wraps, Avis nudged the window curtain aside, wondering what the hell she’d do if it was her old man. But the whoosh of her pulse settled, if only by a beat, when, instead of her father’s white Cadillac, she spotted Maggie’s old Volvo parked in the driveway.
Maggie sauntered up the drive in a pair of bell-bottom jeans, avoiding rain puddles as not to soil her platform sandals. She did this while balancing a Saran-wrapped plate in her right hand. Avis opened the door before she had a chance to ring the bell.
“Audra,” Maggie said.
“Maggie.” Avis gave her a weary smile. “Hey, I . . .” Hesitation. “I wasn’t expecting you. You should have called. Where’s Eloise?”
“At my mother’s. And since when do I need to call before coming over?” Maggie peered over Avis’s shoulder and into the living room, then crushed the plate of what looked to be cookies against Avis’s chest, nudging her out of the way. “What’s this?” Raising an eyebrow, she noted the trio in the living room. An outburst of laughter sounded from somewhere upstairs. She shot a look up the steps, her face a mask of surprise.
“Just some friends,” Avis said, keeping her voice down.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Avis glanced down at her feet. She felt bad, like the worst friend in the world. Maggie had always been there for her, and what had Avis done? She’d cut Maggie out, had kept the group a secret, as though Maggie hadn’t been important enough to be privy to such a huge change in her life.
But Maggie had a tendency to puff up like a peacock around people she didn’t know. She was smart and pretty and had a weakness for showboating—all traits that Avis found more threatening than before. She had yet to properly forge a relationship with Jeff. How would she make that happen if Maggie stole his attention away?
“Audra Snow, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve been a rotten friend.” She made her statement at full volume to garner attention. When Avis shot a glance back to the living room, wondering if anyone had heard her above the din of the TV, her stomach twisted. Jeff and both girls were watching them from the couch. Jeffrey’s expression seemed to be a careful balance of curiosity and fascination. Clover and Gypsy exchanged a knowing look before allowing their attention to return to Avis and her friend.
Other than shoving her out the door and ruining their friendship, Avis had no choice but to let Maggie float by her and into the living room. As soon as she did, a wide smile replaced Maggie’s annoyance.
“Hi there,” she singsonged, homing in on Jeff like a cheerleader sniffing out a quarterback. “I’m Maggie, Audra’s friend. I live just next door.” She caught one of Jeff’s hands with both of hers. Nausea roiled at the pit of Avis’s stomach as she watched them, Jeffrey’s mouth curling up into a strange, amused sort of smile. “And you are?”
“Jeffrey.”
His voice twisted Avis up. Her nausea grew tenfold. Suddenly, realization hit her. Perhaps she’d just run out of time to make that lasting impression. Maggie was going to steal away the man that was supposed to save Avis from herself.
Gypsy introduced herself, her voice deep and husky, like Stevie Nicks’s. She fingered the cross around her neck, as if considering something, then nodded to her cohort. “This is Clover.” Clover smiled, then exhaled a quiet laugh at something funny. “And Avis . . .” Gypsy motioned to her, reintroducing everyone’s host by her newly given name.
Every nerve in Avis’s body sizzled at the vocalization of that name. The moniker that had felt so right over the past few days felt fake now, as though she was only pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
“Avis . . . ?” Maggie gave her a questioning look.
“She likes it better,” Clover said. “It means ‘bird.’ ”
Avis’s face felt hot. Maybe she was supposed to stay Audra after all. The sudden flush of her cheeks might be proof that her life would never be different, that she was doomed to remain the person she’d always been—isolated, unseen.
“I’ll go make some coffee,” Avis murmured. She turned away from them, the plate of Maggie’s cookies held in both hands. Ducking into the kitchen, she slid the plate onto the island. Laughter sounded from the living room as soon as she left. Were they laughing at her? Anxiety rolled inside her like an undertow, threatening to overwhelm her, to stifle her with her own dismay.
This isn’t right, she thought. This isn’t me. Who am I kidding? I’m not Avis. This will never be my life.