how you can stay so thin,” she said. “It’s inhuman.”
Joy snorted a laugh but managed to cover it with a sip of lemon seltzer.
“Dad used to say I made a pact with the devil.” Stef grinned.
“No, I said you were a devil,” Dad said. “I remember this one time Stef wanted to see if he could do stunts on his Big Wheel trike. But did he make a ramp out of a piece of wood and a brick like a normal kid? Oh no! I’m out raking the lawn and turn around to see my only son rolling down the porch banister on his Big Wheel and launch, soaring through the air with the biggest, toothiest grin on his face, and there I was—rake in hand, ten feet away, nothing I could do—and that smug little brat lands right in the middle of my pile of leaves. Stuff everywhere and not a scratch on him. I nearly had a heart attack.”
Everyone at the table laughed, even though there was a tug of pain as Joy remembered the old house with its homey smells of Murphy Oil Soap, old books and slow-brewed coffee. She could imagine the back porch with its peeling white paint and the taste of real lemonade that Mom would make with slices of rind. That was before everything changed—before Doug, before Shelley, before quitting gymnastics and Dad’s black depression. Before the move. Before the Carousel. Before Indelible Ink.
Stef saw the change in Joy’s face and switched the subject quickly.
“So have you two decided how long you’ll take off?” he asked.
Dad put his hand on Shelley’s. “We’re thinking two weeks.”
Joy stopped chewing her spring roll. “Two weeks what?”
Dad tried avoiding her gaze, but Shelley held his hand firmly. If nothing else, Joy appreciated that his girlfriend didn’t let him dodge his way out of confrontation. Another way that she wasn’t like Mom.
“You didn’t tell her?” Shelley asked.
“I did,” her dad said. “Or at least tried to. She wouldn’t stop typing on her phone.”
Joy swallowed. “Tell me what?”
“Shelley and I are planning to spend some time alone this summer, and I’ll be back at the end of August so we can still have some family time with Stef,” he said. “Any of this sounding familiar?”
Unfortunately, it did. Joy stared back, speechless.
“I had to check the dates with work,” Shelley said, taking on some of the blame. “We really didn’t know anything until yesterday morning.”
Joy swallowed her embarrassment along with a forkful of salad. It wasn’t Shelley’s fault. Joy didn’t blame her for wanting some time alone with her boyfriend. And, on the bright side, maybe now she could have more time with her boyfriend. The knight’s death and Grimson’s mark had affected him a lot. She played with her fork as she collected her thoughts.
“So where are you going?” Joy asked with a conciliatory grin.
“To the shore,” her dad said. “We’ve rented a place and a car and we’ll drive around exploring. No phones, no computers, total radio silence and some lovely peace and quiet.” He took Shelley’s hand. “Shelley’s been researching spots online and I have a tour map from triple A.”
“Did you check out that Dare to Tread book I told you about?” Stef asked. “It’s got a lot of great places that are off the beaten path.”
Joy slammed down her knife and glared at her brother, falling right back into that pit of fear that always burned at the bottom of her stomach: that little-kid hurt of finding out only after the fact that she was the last to know everything.
“Wait a minute. How long has Stef known about this?” she asked.
“We had to schedule things around Stef’s arrival,” Dad soothed. “We wanted him to be home for you before we took off.”
Joy slapped down her napkin. “What? Now I need a babysitter?” she asked. “I’m seventeen years old and have been practically on my own for years!”
“Oh, for Pete’s sakes, Joy—” Dad began.
Stef reached for more potatoes. “I’m not babysitting you, so you can quit acting like a baby.”
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
Dad sighed at Shelley. “Did I mention peace and quiet? Less than twenty-four hours and it’s like they’re nine and twelve all over again.” He speared a cube of feta cheese, then pointed it at each of them. “But here’s the difference—I can legally leave the two of you behind as semiresponsible semiadults without the authorities breathing down my neck. So don’t make me regret taking this time for myself and don’t make me think twice, or so help me, I’ll find a way to ground both of you for the rest of the summer. Do I make myself clear?”
Joy and Stef both chewed in their seats.
“Say, ‘Yes, Dad,’” he commanded.
“Yes, Dad,” they said.
“Good. And be sure to call your mother at least once a week. Now pass the chicken.”
Stef lifted the plate obligingly. “You started it,” he fake-coughed into his elbow.
A smirk pulled on Joy’s lips. She tried fighting it and failed. She wiped her lips.
“Did not,” she whispered behind her napkin.
“Did, too.”
“Dork.”
“Dweeb.”
“Lord help me,” Dad muttered, fighting his own grin as he sawed with his knife.
Shelley breathed a little easier and patted his arm. “I just love a man who takes charge.”
Her dad blushed as he took a bite.
* * *
Nine o’clock. Dad and Shelley had gone to her apartment to finish packing for their trip, Stef was meeting some friends at the movies, and Joy sat alone in the condo. Surfing the web, listening to music, Joy toodled around waiting for the numbers on the clock to read one-zero-zero-zero.
The wall of her room unfurled, and Ink stepped through.
Joy’s heart thumped as she removed her headphones and clicked off-line.
“Hey,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you ’til ten.”
Ink slipped his razor past the wallet chain at his hip.
“I couldn’t wait,” he said.
“You ‘couldn’t’?”
Ink shook his head solemnly. One dimpled smirk. “No.”
Two steps and his arms came around her. She curled into his chest. He held her close and stroked her hair, breathing a sound of relief. Joy rocked in his arms, content. He was getting better at hugs. She wondered which of the thirty-six versions this one was.
“I am sorry,” he said past her ear. “About before. I am still...”
“Shh,” she said, squeezing him tighter. “It’s okay.”
“It is not,” he whispered into the crook of her shoulder. She could feel his breath there, warm and gentle and sweet. “But it will be.”
“Yes,” Joy said, touching his face so that she could see him. “And you’re here.”
Ink chuckled despite himself. “Oh, I am very, very here.” He lifted her hand from his cheek, cupping the back of her fingers in his. He inspected each of her fingertips: pink and perfect. A mischievous spark lit his fathomless eyes, and his eyebrows formed a question.
Joy’s heart pounded. This was their game, invented at her kitchen table the first time they’d created his hands based on hers, tracing