home. When the hover turned onto their narrow road and she spotted their house settled amid the snow drifts, the relief she felt nearly overwhelmed her.
Home.
She was out of the hover before it had come to a complete stop, launching herself over the gravel drive and yanking open the front door. But she had taken only a few steps into the entryway when she felt the silent stillness of the house.
She paused.
No clanging of pots in the kitchen. No creaking floorboards overhead. No familiar humming.
Her grandmother wasn’t here.
“Grand-mère?” she attempted anyway.
“Scarlet!”
She spun around, a grin bursting across her face. Her grandmother was rushing toward her across the drive, her face contorted in worry.
“I heard the hover pull up,” she said, panting for breath. “What are you doing here?”
“I came home early,” Scarlet said. “I couldn’t stand it there. Oh, Grand-mère, it was horrible, absolutely horrible!” She moved to meet her grandmother on the front steps but hesitated.
Her grandmother’s hair was wild and uncombed and the circles under her eyes were extra dark, as if she hadn’t slept since Scarlet had left.
And she was not smiling.
“You can’t be here!” her grandmother cried, then flinched at the shrill tone of her own voice.
Scarlet frowned. “What?”
“That isn’t—” Her grandmother let out a groan. She didn’t stop when she reached the front step—not to give Scarlet a hug or a kiss on the cheek, nothing. After more than a week of separation, all her grandmother did was shove her inside the house.
Scarlet dropped her backpack on the floor with a heavy thud. “What’s going on?”
Her grandma took a moment to compose herself, but her face was still twisted into a scowl. “You weren’t supposed to be home for weeks. Didn’t you think to send me a comm and let me know you were coming back early?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Scarlet snapped. It was easy to switch back into her angry mode—after all, she’d been angry for the past week. “Why are you yelling?”
“I’m not—!” Her grandmother growled and crossed her arms over her chest.
Scarlet mimicked the pose, glaring up at her. It wouldn’t be long now before they were the same height.
After a moment, her grandmother released a frustrated breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. Nothing can be done about it now. But, since you’re home…” Her voice changed, taking on a short, businesslike tone. She still sounded angry, but now Scarlet could see that she was frazzled, too. “I haven’t been able to get into town yet this week.” She pivoted on her heels and marched into the kitchen. “We’ll call back that taxi and you can go run some errands for me. I need you to go to the bakery and the hardware store, and you can take the drapes in to the cleaners and—”
“Excuse me?” said Scarlet from the doorway. She gaped at her grandmother bustling around the kitchen, pulling together a list of groceries. “That’s it? I have had a horrible, horrible week, and now you’re going to send me out to run some stupid errands without…” Her voice warbled. “Without even saying ‘welcome home’?”
Her grandmother paused and turned to face her. A flash of guilt crossed over her face, but she whisked it away and squared her shoulders. “If you wanted a party, you should have commed to tell me you were on your way back. I have things I need to get done, Scarlet. You have to … I need you to run into town for these things, today. After all, if you’re old enough to take the train all the way from Paris by yourself, you’re clearly old enough to run a few errands.”
“Fine, I’ll stop the hover,” said Scarlet, gritting her teeth and blinking back her tears before they could fall. “Just comm me the list when you have it, as I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your valuable time.” She stormed back to the entryway. “By the way,” she yelled over her shoulder, “I missed you, too!”
She slammed the door so hard it made the house’s gables shake overhead, but this time there was nothing satisfying about it.
* * *
Michelle was choking on guilt. Scarlet had hardly spoken to her since she returned home yesterday afternoon. Or maybe Michelle was avoiding talking to her, unable to explain why she’d been so upset, unable to apologize in any meaningful way. It seemed easier to be silent. To move around the small house and ignore the other’s