Twice Kissed. Lisa Jackson

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      “She’ll live.” The doctor, a petite woman in a lab coat three sizes too large and a name tag that read “Penny Cranston, M.D.,” gazed at Maggie over the tops of half glasses that threatened to slide off her short, straight nose. “The ankle’s sprained, but not too badly and I looked at the X-rays. Nothing broken that I can see. However, just to be on the side of caution, I’ll send them to a specialist in case I missed something.”

      “Thanks.” Maggie was relieved. She’d driven over an hour to an all-night clinic in Lewiston only to discover that Becca, though bruised and scraped, her pride wounded as badly as anything else, would be fine. In the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights, Becca looked small and pale, her eyes wide, the scratches on her skin red but not deep. The dirt had been washed from her face and hands, and, all in all, aside from the knot turning blue around her ankle, she seemed fine.

      “Now.” Dr. Cranston trained her eyes on her patient again. “You need to use crutches for a few days, maybe a week or two, until you’re out of pain. I’ll give you a prescription for the first couple of days, and I want you to rest, elevate the foot, and ice it for twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

      “So, no school, right?” Becca asked eagerly.

      “Wellll…I think you can make it back to class. Maybe not for a couple of days, but then I think you’ll be able to go back.” She winked at Becca, who rolled her eyes theatrically and, with Maggie’s help, hobbled back to the old Jeep, another source of irritation to Becca, who didn’t understand why they had to trade in a perfectly good BMW for a dilapidated, rugged vehicle with four-wheel drive and a dented right fender. But then Becca didn’t understand about an expensive lease as opposed to a vehicle that, though battered, was paid for.

      Once they were in the Jeep, Becca leaned her bucket seat back as far as possible and closed her eyes. “Why is that Thane guy at our house?” she asked, as Maggie wheeled out of the parking lot and headed east. It was nearly midnight, and clouds had crept in, covering the stars and moon. As the lights of Lewiston faded behind them, the darkness of the night seemed to close in.

      Maggie fiddled with the radio, found a country-and-western station, and recognized a Garth Brooks tune. “He’s here because there’s a problem with Aunt Mary,” Maggie said, hedging a bit until she knew for certain what had happened to Mary Theresa.

      “You mean Marquise,” Becca clarified, her voice taking on a snotty edge.

      “I still think of her as Mary Theresa. Always will.”

      “She changed her name years ago.” Without lifting her head, Becca turned and faced her mother. “The least you could do is respect it.”

      Becca wasn’t going to bait her into this argument. “Old habits are hard to break.”

      “Not if you try, Mom.”

      “Forget it.”

      “So what’s wrong with Marquise?”

      “I don’t know,” Maggie admitted truthfully. She shifted down for a sharp corner and spied a set of taillights winking on the ribbon of road far ahead. “She’s missing.”

      “So? Sometimes she just takes off.”

      “I know.” Maggie should have taken solace in the fact that her sister was flighty and had, in the past, disappeared for a few days. But this time was different. This time the police were involved. And Thane Walker, Mary Theresa’s first husband, was waiting for Maggie at her house. “No one seems to know where she is. No one.”

      “Don’t blame her. СКАЧАТЬ