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Show Woodworth/252 thinks of calling 3ary, then realizes that she icesr.'t fee* his number. Left the name of the hotel at the apart-er.t. Needs to bn with him, anyway. Needs him to call her. As if in response, the phone rings. She answers it immediately, calmly. Her father's voice, too, is solid, and they exchange sentences like bricks, building a wall. She has a broker, rib, and a broken arm. And some bruises on her face. Now she is sleeping. He gives her a list of things to bring. Nightgown, toothbrush, tooth paste, and she memorizes them, clenching her eyes closed, shutting out doors, patio, field, pond, the Graysons, and the rough-smooth feel of the rope against her tongue. Remember the details, thread them together. Megan and Racahel are poised over their coffee cups, watching her. "She's ok," she says. "A broken rib and a broken arm. She's asleep right now." "Yippee!" Megan shrieks. "Yippee, yippee, yippee. She puts her mug down, and grabs Marty around the waist, swinging her in a half*hug, half dance. "We broke the spell. See? That's it. Before, if something bad could happen, it did. But now it's different. From now on, everything is going to turn out as well as it possibly can." Her eyes are shining, and she shakes Marty like a dusty rug. "Right? Right?" "I suppose it was only a matter of time before ^egan went, too," Rachael says slowly. "But somehow I always thought she'd stay sane." "If this is insane, I like it a lot better," Megan says. "This feels a whole lot more like sane." She shakes tarty a*ain. " ^ , <" crazv. Join the rest of us." They look |