"I said, forget it!"

Now I was angrier. Actually, furious. "Let me finish!" I barked at him. He jumped a bit and looked up at me, genuinely surprised. "How can you show up here and expect us to have a table set for you, with a complete Thanksgiving dinner? Without calling, or emailing . . . You just can't do that."

David stared at me, his surprise turning to simple sadness, his mouth twitching.

Then he just said, "This was a mistake."

With that, he slammed the door and started the car. I only had time to step back before he sped backward out of our driveway, leaving a dirty cloud of dust behind him.

"I put rum in these Diet c.o.kes," whispered Meg, her breath spicy with onion dip.

We were seated next to each other at one of three large tables Mrs. Dill had set up in their dining room and foyer. Meg was psyched because it was the first time they didn't have a kids' table in the kitchen; she was with the grown-ups now. Nana was across from us, next to an elderly uncle, and I wondered for a second if it wasn't a setup.

Some part of my body was still shaking from that morning. Every time I blinked, I could see David's face changing from earnestness to regret, sliding away from me in a second. And I'd let it. I'd let it go.

I hadn't told anyone about David coming. Not Nana, who came back from the Mitas' just five minutes after he tore off, whose day I just could not complicate any further. Not Meg, who seemed preoccupied as usual with something of her own.

I remembered that I did have somewhere to go, David had said. His voice and face, open and honest, and trusting. I cringed at the thought, and tried to be happy he'd come in the first place. It was like he'd opened a window. Maybe in his rush to leave, he'd forgotten to shut it.

I took my c.o.ke and sniffed it. The rum made it smell like the ARCO station. Mrs. Dill, at the big table across the room, stood up and raised her gla.s.s.

"Before we dig in, I'd like to thank all of you for coming. Every one of you means so much to me in your own way . . . and seeing your faces here in my house . . ." She started to choke up, and Mr. Dill reached out his hand to her elbow, but she shook it away. "I'm fine, honey. I'm just . . . happy. So happy! To being together and being thankful!"

Everyone took their cue to clink, then drink, although I only took a tiny sip of what tasted like gasoline with bubbles. To being together. I thought of David, eating a chain restaurant turkey platter somewhere near Washington, DC. I hoped he was with people he liked.

As Mrs. Dill sat down, neatly wiping a tear from each eye, I noticed that Meg was staring at her, frowning.

"Is she okay?" I asked.

Meg shrugged, then lowered her voice to a whisper. "I hope so. She just went on new medication, and I think it's making her a little loopy." She glanced at me with a look of relief, and added, "She's being treated for depression."

Then she turned away and began to eat, knowing that what she'd said just created more questions.

After dinner, I offered to help Meg load the dishwasher while everyone else took a pre-pie break. I wasn't going to let her drop some major info in my lap and then leave it there for me to stare at, like something gross that fell from a tree.

"I had no idea your mom was depressed. How long has that been going on?"

Meg stood rinsing at the sink and handed me a plate to rack. "I don't know. Awhile. It's only gotten bad in the last few months."

If we were running this conversation by the book, my next question would have been, Why didn't you tell me? But I knew the answer to that. Besides, I had my own secrets. What could I say to make things feel less icky between us?

I thought of Mr. Dill, his firm hand on his wife's elbow, the flat line of his mouth as he looked at her, like he was bracing himself for something.

"How's your dad handling it?"

"Not well." Meg handed me another plate without looking at me, and I knew the subject was closed.

That night, back at the house, Nana wanted me to sit with her and watch The Wizard of Oz on TV. When she fell asleep sometime before Dorothy met up with the Tin Man, I went over to the computer and opened my email. David's last message was still there, although it had slid dejectedly to a spot halfway down the page. It felt like by just clicking on it I could open up a hole to climb into, shout to the bottom of.

So I hit reply and told David about Thanksgiving dinner, about the old uncle with the sweet potato in his mustache all night and the friends from Connecticut, a married couple, who wore identical green sweaters with turtles on them. I told him about the cornucopia centerpiece that smelled like rotten fruit, and the plates with turkeys dressed like Pilgrims on them. I started to tell him about Meg's mom, too, but then changed my mind.

Finally, I just ended the email with this: So I'd like to hear how Cracker Barrel matched that in the Weird Holiday department. Next time you come back to town, call first, and we'll be expecting you.

Laurel I hit send before I could tinker with it, and went back to the couch, and to Oz.

Chapter Thirty.

h.e.l.lo? Is this Laurel?"

My cell phone rang at 9:07 the morning after Thanksgiving, while I was walking Masher in the woods.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"It's Robert? From the animal hospital?"

As soon as he said "hospital" I heard barking, far away and hollow, on his end.

"Oh, hey." I tried not to make it sound like, Why the h.e.l.l are you calling me?

"Listen, I just talked to Eve. She's still with her parents in Vermont for the holiday. She said I should call you?" Everything he said came out like a question.

"What's going on?"

"We got a call from Eve's connection at the shelter. They've got a cat who's scheduled to be put to sleep today, so she's calling around to see if anyone can take her. Dr. B says we have room, but it's really busy here today and I can't leave. So Eve said maybe you could pick her up and bring her in."

Me. The missing link in the chain that needed to come together to save an animal's life.

"Tell them I'll be there in twenty minutes."

When I told Nana why I was scrambling to the car, she just nodded and said, "As long as this one doesn't end up in your brother's room, do whatever you need to do."

I was just a few minutes from the house when my cell phone rang and I answered it.

"Hi, it's me." Meg.

"Hey! You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Too much excess?"

"No, my parents were arguing all night long, and I could hear every freaking thing. My mom crying. My dad punching pillows. Seriously, it was like listening to a soap opera."

"My G.o.d, Meg. I'm sorry." And then, because I thought of that "why didn't you tell me" feeling from the night before, because it seemed like something I should say, I added, "What can I do?"

"I just need to get out and go somewhere. Can we go to the mall where it will be crowded and obnoxious and I can forget about it all?"

"Um . . . sure. I can meet you there in a couple of hours."

Silence on the other end of the line. "I was hoping I could pick you up in, like, a minute and a half."

"I'm on my way to the animal shelter to save a cat." It came out like I was heading to the grocery store to buy toilet paper.

"What do you mean?"

"I got a call from work. They need my help."

"Well, I need your help." Meg's voice sounded echoey, louder, a little girl with her hand cupped over the phone receiver so n.o.body else could hear.

"You got it. Just tell me where to meet you."

"In two hours?"

"Maybe less. I have to pick up the cat, bring her to Ashland, and get her settled."

"Laurel, I don't want to be alone right now."

I thought about saying Yes, of course, Meg. I thought about calling Robert and telling him I had to come later. But the road was pulling the car so swiftly and purposefully toward the shelter, tugging me to an animal that would be dead if I wasn't on my way. It didn't seem possible that I could slow down and turn around, even if I wanted to.

"Why don't you come meet me at the hospital?" I asked.

There was a pause, and Meg sucked in her breath, and I could almost hear the anger and hurt she was vacuuming into her chest.

"Silly me, I forgot that it always has to be about you."

It was like a dart thrown right at my face. Quick and direct, with unexpected velocity. My defenses weren't fast enough.

"It's not about me," I said. "It's about saving an animal that's going to be killed! Could you really live with yourself if you knew this cat got put to sleep because you didn't want to go to the mall alone?"

Silence, worse than the anger-air-suck. More silence, worse than the dart.

"Laurel, there are a lot of things I can say right now about the last six months, but I think you know them all." She paused, and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to respond, but I didn't think so, because the next thing she said was: "I'll see you around."

And the line went dead.

Chapter Thirty-one.

Early Action: Get your admission decision The words on the Yale website sounded so ho-hum about it, without an exclamation point or even a period to punctuate what it meant to those of us who'd been waiting to see them appear. Everyone else who'd applied early somewhere was counting the days, marking them as little sticks on their notebooks or with big Xs in their locker calendars. I refused to keep track but still found myself checking the Yale admissions page online every day.

All I had to do was follow that link, and log in, and there would be an answer on the other side. It felt so strange to have that guarantee.

I got up, walked around the room, sat down again. Checked the weather.

Arrrrgh, just do it!

So I did, wondering if they'd be standing behind me, watching. Mom and Dad, maybe Toby, too. No, I'd make them stand outside with the door closed.

"Ha!" I said out loud to n.o.body.

I'd gotten in.

I thought of how my dad's face might have looked at the news. He was good at the knowing smile; I think he would have done that. And he got misty so easily, never afraid to leave the tears there and not wipe them away.

What about Mom? She'd be surprised, first. Genuinely surprised, and that would p.i.s.s me off a little. And then she'd look relieved and laugh, and I'd just laugh back to forget the p.i.s.sed-off part.

They're with you right now, I told myself. They're here.

When Nana came to find me ten minutes later, I was still crying.

"I remember when your dad got his letter," said Nana over our celebration half-plain, half-veggie pizza at Vinny's. "He wasn't sure he wanted to go, but he heard the girls were particularly pretty there." She paused, the corners of her eyes glistening. "He would be so proud, you know."

I nodded and looked down, then decided, to h.e.l.l with it. No time like the present.

"Nana, I'm not sure I should go."

She put down her slice of pizza, taking a moment to arrange it neatly in the center of the plate, and frowned at me. "Why wouldn't you go?"

"I mean, maybe I'm not ready to live away from home. Instead I could go to Columbia or NYU, which are both great schools, if I got in. And I could stay here." Then I added, because I thought maybe it would help, "With you."

How could I tell her the things that had been swimming in my head all afternoon? The things I didn't even want to think about before, because I didn't have to, but now I had to. It would have been easier to get rejected from Yale so I could keep on not thinking about them.

What about the animals? Not just Selina and Elliot and Masher, but the patients at Ashland and the future Echos who might need me to be on the other end of a phone call. Echo was the cat I'd picked up from the shelter and brought to Ashland that day after Thanksgiving. Eve already had a possible home for her.

But there was another thing. It had come up during a session with Suzie the previous week.

"Are you excited to hear about Yale?" asked Suzie, looking at her notes.

"I guess so," I'd answered, looking out the window. It felt like small talk.

"You're not sure?"

"No, I'm sure." I hated these idiotic conversations we had sometimes.