“Shit,” Ava said into the phone. She was using the landline in the cottage, and had the receiver wedged between cheek and shoulder while she stirred their tomato sauce on the stove. Mercy had stoked up a fire for her, explained the instructions at length, and finally left her to it, going out to split more firewood while there was still some daylight left. So far so good. “How many hit?”
“Five.” Maggie’s voice was weary on the other end of the line.
“Fatalities?”
“Two. One on the scene, one at the hospital.”
“God.”
“The protesters have pulled back,” Maggie said. “They’re all terrified. Which gives us a break from them, but…”
“Not exactly helpful to the reputation,” Ava said with a sigh.
Maggie echoed the sigh on her end. “Yeah. Not exactly.”
Ava gave the sauce another stir and rapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, the way she’d watched her mother do countless times, knocking off the excess tomato clumps.
“What was that? What are you doing?” Maggie asked.
“Cooking.”
“No, seriously.”
“I am serious,” Ava said, grateful for the chance to smile about something. “I’m making tomato sauce. And when I get done with that, I’m going to put the noodles in.”
“You’re cooking,” Maggie said, voice mild with surprise. “That poor man.”
“No, not poor him. He’s teaching me.”
“Mercy’s teaching you how to cook.”
“This is going to be a pretty fruitless conversation if you just keep repeating everything I say.”
“Watch it,” Maggie said. Then, softening: “So he knows his way around a kitchen, huh?”
“Surprisingly well. He’s convinced he can get me past the point of burning bagels.”
“Can he?”
“I think so.” She tasted the sauce on the end of the spoon. “Oh my God. This actually doesn’t suck.”
“Good for you, baby.” A touch of longing in her voice. Ava missed her mom, and she figured the feeling was mutual, maybe even more so. This felt a lot like the college-year separations, those long spells between fall starts and Christmas breaks.
Ava turned down the heat and fitted the lid over the pot. She took the phone in her hand again, propping her hip against the counter. The fire crackling in the stove sent up a cheerful wood smoke smell. Outside the ax struck again and again, at regular intervals.
“Hey, Mom, there’s something I probably ought to tell you.”
A tiny shiver in Maggie’s voice, fear and apprehension. “Okay.”
“It’s a good thing, I promise. But…it might be better if you let me tell Dad and Aidan in person.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Mercy and I got married.” Her eyes went to the ring on her left hand out of instinct, and they burned when she thought about its previous owner, the awful story she now knew. “In Knoxville, before we left,” she continued. “Ratchet’s buddy at the courthouse owes him a few favors. He was able to get us a license without waiting.”
Silence.
“Mom?”
