Chapter Three
Twelve Years Ago
It wasn’t that Maggie’s parents hadn’t wanted a big family. It was more like they’d never really learned how to have one.
They’d been older when Maggie was born, and sometimes she got the feeling they were like the staff of a restaurant, ready
to close up and go home when she’d stumbled in five minutes before closing.
So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when, two weeks after moving into a dorm in upstate New York, Maggie’s parents put
their little Texas house on the market. They bought a condo in Florida and two matching golf carts that neither one of them
knew how to drive, and that year, Maggie spent Thanksgiving eating dry turkey sandwiches and sleeping on an air mattress surrounded
by unpacked boxes.
She was already back on campus when she got the call, alone in her dorm room when a stranger told her about the accident.
She was alone when she went back to Florida to pack up the condo and sell the golf carts and ship a half-dozen boxes to a
storage unit not far from campus.
She was alone when the boy from the Office of Residential Life explained, “I’m sorry, but students aren’t allowed to stay
in the dorms over winter break.”
Because Christmas was coming. Of course it was. Christmas was always coming, but Maggie couldn’t go back to Florida; and she couldn’t go back to Texas. And she probably couldn’t stay in the
storage unit where she’d placed her family photos, the good dishes, and seventy-seven novels by Eleanor Ashley.
“But I have to stay here,” she’d pleaded with the RA who was looking at her over the top of a giant box labeled Garland and Shit .
“You can’t,” the boy said, like maybe the university had admitted her by mistake. Like no one could be that stupid.
“No. They can’t kick me out just because it’s Christmas. I live here. This is where I live.”
“Look, I know it sucks and parents are the worst, but most people just go home.” He looked at her like the solution was both
obvious and inevitable. “You should just go home.”
Then he turned, shifting the box like it held the weight of the world—like no college student had ever had to bear a greater
burden—and Maggie felt her throat start to burn.
“But what if...” She’d never had to say the words out loud before. “What if you don’t have one?” Her voice cracked, and
her eyes watered and maybe that’s why he didn’t quite get it as he glanced back over his shoulder.
“What?”
“My parents died and the golf carts were nonrefundable and I need the condo money for tuition.”
She’d said it all too quickly—like those were excuses that he had to hear all the time—and, suddenly, Ryan from Residential
Life stopped looking at her like she was stupid and started looking at her like she was crazy. And also pitiful. Which was
okay. At that moment, pity was almost all she had going for her.
“I can’t go home.” She ran a hand over her eyes like she could push the tears back in. When that didn’t work, she looked away.
“I don’t have one.”
“Look, I’m really sorry. But...” His voice was lower, softer. Closer. “They turn down the heat and cut the lights. There’s
no food. There’s no heat . It’s three weeks. You literally cannot stay here.”
He was right, of course. The heat was the deal-breaker, which meant she was going to have to dip into her meager savings and
get a motel. Maybe an Airbnb. She could get a part-time job. Maybe go to the nearest airport and start impersonating long-lost
relatives in the hope that someone might take pity on her and take her home. It was either that or—
“You could come home with me,” a voice said from behind her.
And that’s how she met Emily.
And that was the beginning of everything.
Even the end.