The Winter Lodge

Then he did touch her, though not to pull her into his embrace. Instead, he took her by the shoulders and turned her to look at the burned-out house. “Look, the stories you need to write aren’t there,” he said. “They never were. You’ve already got them in your head. You just need to write them down, the way you’ve always done.”

She nodded, trying her best to believe him, but the effort exhausted her. Everything exhausted her. She had a pounding headache that felt as though her brain was about to explode. “You weren’t kidding,” she said to Rourke, “about this being a busy day.”

“You doing all right?” he asked her. “Still a five?”

She was surprised he remembered that. “I’m too confused to feel anxious.”

“The good news is, everyone’s breaking for lunch.”

“Thank God.”

They got in the car and he said, “Where to? The bakery? Back home to rest?”

Home, she thought ruefully. “I’m homeless, remember?”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying with me, for as long as it takes.”

“Oh, that’ll look good. The chief of police shacking up with a homeless woman.”

He grinned and started the car. “I’ve heard worse gossip than that in this town.”

“I’m calling Nina. I can stay with her.”

“She’s out of town at that mayors’ seminar, remember?”

“I’ll call Laura.”

“Her place is the size of a postage stamp.”

He was right. Laura was content in a tiny apartment by the river, and Jenny didn’t relish the thought of squeezing in there. “Then I’ll use this debit card at a B&B—”

“Hey, will you cut it out? It’s not like I’m Norman Bates. You’re staying with me, end of story.”

She shifted in her seat to stare at him, amazed by his ease with the situation.

“What?” he asked, glancing down at his crisp shirt and conservative blue tie. “Did I spill coffee on myself?”

She clicked her seat belt in place. “I was just thinking. One way or another, you’ve been rescuing me ever since we were kids.”

“Yeah? Then you’d think I’d be better at it.” He dialed the steering wheel one-handed, heading down the hill toward town. He put on a pair of G-man shades and adjusted the rearview mirror. “Either that, or your dragons are getting a lot harder to slay.”

Four

Daisy Bellamy stood on the freshly shoveled sidewalk in front of Avalon High School. She gazed up at the concrete edifice of her new school while her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest. Her new school. It was one of those brick Gothic buildings so common in old-fashioned small towns.

She couldn’t believe it. Once a girl from the Upper East Side, she was now, in her last semester of school, a resident of Avalon, here in the heart of nowhere.

I really screwed up this time, she thought, feeling sick to her stomach.

Was it only two weeks ago that she’d been a senior at an exclusive prep school in New York City? That was a lifetime ago. Since then, she’d left school in disgrace and now this. Now her dad had forced her to move to Sleepy Hollow, and she had to finish her senior year here with the Archie Gang, at a public high school.

Of course, everyone said, in the most caring fashion, moving here and changing schools came about because of a bad choice Daisy made. Bad choice. What a riot.

So now she stood in the middle of the frozen tundra surrounding her, and she felt completely detached from the scene. It was like an out-of-body experience, where she was hovering unseen somewhere, gazing down at herself, a lone figure in the snow, with a kaleidoscope of babbling strangers circling around her, oblivious to her presence.

No. That wasn’t right. Not everyone was oblivious. A pair of girls spotted her, then put their heads together and immediately started whispering. A moment later, a pack of guys tossing a football back and forth checked her out with measuring glances. Their low whistles and apelike sounds rolled right over her like a bitter wind.

Let them whisper. Let them jeer. What the hell did she care about any of this?

She brought her attitude with her into the main office of the school. A blast of damp heat filled the room, redolent of wet wool and whatever else a public high school smelled like. Daisy undid her Burberry muffler and pulled off her Portolano gloves. People on the other side of the scarred wooden counter were busy on the phone, staring at computer monitors or sliding messages into a row of mailboxes.

A tired-looking woman at a desk marked Attendance Clerk glanced up at her. “May I help you?”

Daisy unbuttoned her faux fur-trimmed suede jacket. “I’m Daisy Bellamy. Today’s my first day.”

The clerk sorted through the stacking trays on her desk. Then she picked up a file folder and came over to the counter, moving with a pregnant woman’s waddle. Her stomach was enormous. Daisy tried not to stare.

“Oh, good,” the clerk said. “We’ve got all your records right here. Your father stopped by on Friday and everything is in order.”

Daisy nodded, suddenly feeling overheated and nauseous. Her dad would be here right now, except that she’d begged him not to come. Her brother, Max, was only in fifth grade, she’d argued. He needed their dad way more than Daisy did. Way more.

The clerk explained Daisy’s schedule to her, handed over a map of the building and traced directions to her homeroom. She also told her where her locker was located and gave her the combination. There was a complicated system of bells—first bell, assembly bell, lunch bell … but Daisy barely listened. She glanced at the room number on her pink slip, left the office and headed into the tile-walled halls of her new school.

The corridor was jammed with loud kids and the smell of damp winter clothes. The sounds of slamming lockers and laughter filled the air. Daisy found the locker assigned to her, dialed the combination and swung open the metal door. The former occupant had shown a fondness for hiphop, judging by the intricate, interlocking graffiti drawn inside.

She put away her jacket, muffler and gloves. It had been tempting, this morning, to wear something low-key, something that wouldn’t attract attention, but that wasn’t

Daisy’s style. The only possible advantage to changing schools midyear was that for the first time in her life, she would go to a school that didn’t have a strict dress code. She took full advantage of that and showed up today in low-cut jeans and a cropped argyle sweater that showed off one of her many recent rebellions against her parents—a belly-button ring. She had no idea if Archie’s Gang would appreciate her Rock & Republic jeans or Pringle of Scotland sweater, but at least she felt good in them.

She walked into room 247, strolled past the other students and found the teacher’s desk.

Was this guy a teacher? He hardly looked old enough, in slightly wrinkled chinos, a more-than-slightly-wrinkled blue oxford shirt and an adorable but crooked paisley tie.

“Daisy Bellamy,” she said, handing over the new-student folder the attendance clerk had given her.

“Anthony Romano,” said the teacher, standing up and favoring her with a warm smile. “Welcome to Avalon High.” He had a kind of puppylike charm, with those big brown eyes and that eager-to-please attitude. “You want me to introduce you to the class?”

At least he had the consideration to ask. And he seemed so chipper, she hated to burst his bubble. She nodded—might as well get this over with—and turned to face the busy, noisy classroom.

“Hey, listen up,” said Mr. Romano in a surprisingly authoritative voice. He punctuated the imperative by knocking on the blackboard. “We have a new student today.”

The words new student worked like magic. Every pair of eyes in the room turned toward Daisy. She just pretended she was in yet another school play. She’d been into drama since playing a Christmas-pageant cherub at age four, right up to playing Auntie Mame in last year’s spring musical. She simply treated the homeroom class like an audience, offering a hostess’s smile.

“This is Daisy Bellamy. Please make her feel welcome and show her around, okay?”

“Bellamy like the Camp Kioga Bellamys?” someone asked.

Daisy was surprised that the name Bellamy actually meant something around here. Back in the city, you had to be a Rockefeller or carry the name of a clothing label or hotel chain in order for kids to think you were anything special. She nodded. “My grandparents.”