She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to stay with him for a whole month. Looking back, all of Grand-mère’s encouraging words about how it would be a good bonding opportunity and give her father a chance to see what a strong young woman she was becoming and blah blah blah—gag. Instead, all he’d done from the moment she’d arrived was pawn her off on his fawning “lady friends” while he left her for hours, only to come back stinking of cognac. And when he was around, he was criticizing her clothing choices, or blaming Grand-mère for filling her head with too many opinions, or accusing Scarlet of idolizing “the crazy old bat.”
That comment had been the last straw. The last straw ever.
After a ten-minute screaming fit, Scarlet had repacked her bag and stormed out of his apartment, slamming the door satisfyingly behind her. She’d headed straight to the train station. Her father hadn’t even tried to stop her, and she really didn’t care.
She’d lasted nine days.
She thought that was an impressive feat on its own.
She was going to the farm. To her grandmother. To her home.
The moment she stepped off the train and back onto the platform in Toulouse, the angry knot began to dissolve. She inhaled a long breath, looking forward to the familiar scent of hay and manure that had once been disgusting to her, but had developed into something comforting and almost pleasant. Soon she would be drinking a cup of thick, decadent hot chocolate while she vented all her frustrations to Grand-mère. Soon she would be snuggled under her favorite winter quilts, listening to the serene hoots of the barn owl that had taken up residence on the farm earlier that year.
This time, the ride in the taxi hover wasn’t full of anxiety. Every moment that passed, taking her farther away from Paris and her un-father, filled her with the tranquil, pleasant sensation of coming 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.”