Page 35 of The Magic We Made
Francesca doesn’t get it, though. At least, not yet.
“Here.” I cross the living room with the cup of coffee I’ve doctored heavily with milk and sugar.
“Thanks.” Francesca takes the cup from me and hands it to the girl. “Drink this. It will help.”
“I...” The girl is blinking rapidly, but she accepts the cup and takes a tiny sip. “Th-thank you. It’s good.”
“I know.” Francesca’s tone is still calm and friendly. “What’s your name?”
It’s hard for the girl to drink, let alone talk, because she’s shaking so much. But she lowers the coffee mug and tries. “M-M-Meg.”
I knew it. She looks nothing like the photos on the Missing Person flyers her parents made and posted all around West Harbor—and not much like the photos Emma posted of her in the past online, either. Wherever this girl has been, it has not been kind to her.
“Meg Boucher?” Francesca surprises me by asking.
The girl looks stunned. “H-how did you know?”
“A lot of people are looking for you. I’m sure they’re going to be very happy to know you’re all right.”
Meg’s eyes get even wider over the rim of the coffee cup. Her shaking seems to be slowing down, either because of Francesca’s unflappable demeanor, or because the coffee and the wolfskin are warming her up.
“Who?” Meg looks genuinely astonished... and even more frightened than before. “Who’s looking for me?”
“Your family.”
The cops,I add mentally.Most of the Eastern Seaboard, maybe even the entire country.
“Your parents reported you missing four months ago,” Francesca says. “They thought you’d been kidnapped.”
“I’m not,” Meg cries. “I mean, I wasn’t. You have to understand—I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to do it. It’s just that we haven’t had anything to eat all week except for nettles, and when we saw all that food, we just couldn’t help ourselves—”
“What food?” Francesca looks even more confused. “What are you—”
I appreciate Francesca’s help, but she’s asking all the wrong questions. It’s not her fault. She just doesn’t do this for a living.
“Who was making you eat nettles?” I cross the room to stand at the end of the couch.
Meg looks panicky, and I don’t think it’s because I’m a big, scary-looking (at least when I haven’t had my morning shave) male. I think she’s more scared of someone else—someone who isn’t in the room.
“She doesn’tmakeus, exactly,” she insists. “She just wants us to eat clean, live off the land, and minimize waste—”
“Who does?” Francesca asks.
But Meg doesn’t answer. She’s still too busy trying to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause anyone any worry. I just... I just...” She begins to tremble all over again as new tears spill down her dirty cheeks. “I just want to go home!”
“All right,” Francesca says in a soothing voice, and it doesn’t surprise me when she wraps her arms comfortingly around the girl, or when the girl responds by immediately collapsing against her, sobbing. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.”
“Uh.” I take a step forward. I don’t want to ruin Francesca’s little therapy session, but I definitely need more information from this girl. “It would be better if we talked about it now.Right now.”
Francesca shoots me a disapproving look over the weeping girl’s shoulder, but that doesn’t shut me up.
“Look, I don’t want to be the bad guy, but I need to know, Meg. Was there someone named Emma Bridle with you?”
Francesca tightens her arms around the girl. “You don’t have to answer now, Meg,” she says, but her reproachful gaze is still on me. “You just take all the time you need.”
But Meg is already wiping her eyes (with the corner of Guy’s wolfskin) and sniffling. “Yeah. I mean, yes, there was a girl named Emma there. I don’t know her last name—”
Before she can even finish her sentence, I’m grabbing my cell phone from where Francesca left it on a side table and showing Emma’s photo to Meg. “This her?”
