The Locket Read Online Free Page A

to Maggie’s car. Maggie was great about loaning me things. Anything of hers she was happy to share, wanting me to feel at home.
    Nothing said teenage girl like a 1995 Buick, though I refused to complain. The off-white car was in mint condition – rust free – a miracle in the northeast. It had less than 20,000 miles on it. Between Maggie and my Grandma Claire, neither of them had driven very far.
    The smell of pine was overbearing in the old Buick, even though I discarded the pine tree air freshener that hung from the rearview mirror yesterday. I had left the windows open hoping the smell would dissipate soon.
    I startled when I heard a knock on my window. Looking up I saw Aunt Maggie’s smiling face.
    “You forgot your lunch, dear,” she announced warmly, holding the brown paper sack in front of the window.
    Rolling down the window, I noticed her facial expression change, looking almost angry. I reached for my lunch, and pulled it through the window, tossing it on the seat next to me.
    “Where is the pine tree that was hanging from my mirror?” Maggie barked.
    “The smell was awful, and no offense, but a pine tree doesn’t exactly scream seventeen years old,” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
    “I don’t care what it screams!” Maggie yelled. “I like it, and it’s my car, Claire. I have another one in the house. Stay here and I’ll get it,” she instructed, starting towards the house in a huff. I was entertained by her efforts to replace the air freshener and I smiled.
    “Maggie, wait. I’ll be late. You can replace it after school,” I yelled, stepping on the gas as I drove out. I saw in my mirror she was running behind me. Watching her made me chuckle. Jeez Mags, it’s just an air freshener.
    Eating my Pop Tart, I drove the long road to school noticing the overgrown trees and shrubs from a hot, damp, New England summer. The elaborate maze of greens and browns in every direction always reminded me of the children’s song about going over the river and through the woods to grandma’s house.
    Colonial and ranch style homes were tucked away behind the wall of trees lining the streets of Northfield. Each house was similar other than siding choices and an occasional log cabin that broke things up. Some preferred very bright colors while others stuck to traditional wood. This was so different from the homes in San Diego which were made of stucco and Spanish tiles; all painted a varied shade of tan. Their houses were cramped into streets along a grid, cookie cutters of their neighbors. It was easy to peer into the house next door to you because they were no more than six feet away. Here in the country, there was more acreage than structure. It was only possible to get a good look at a neighbor’s house in the winter when the leaves had stripped themselves from the trees.
    The houses on Main Street really stood out. Built in the 19th century by a family of local artisans, they were dramatic and classically New England. Other than the houses, there was a small market, a hardware store and a café.
    My stomach was in a knot, which constricted the closer I got to school. I really hated being the new girl.
    “Shit!” I cursed, swerving when I saw a man standing in the road. My Pop Tart crashed into the front window, crumbling into the dash.
    His dark stare was commanding, putting me on high alert. The car started to spin from the strain I put on the brakes, while turning the wheel. A rainbow of colors streaked around me, making it feel like the car was moving in slow motion. Jerking to a stop in the center of the narrow road facing the opposite direction, I clung fearfully to the steering wheel.
    “What the hell are you doing in the street?” I screamed, peeking over the dash nervously. Glancing out of each window, I searched for him but he was gone.
    Did I just imagine that? No, I knew it was real, so where the hell did he go? Oh no, did I hit him? Oh my God, I hit him. I must have. Even without