Mrs. Parnel choked on her wine. “Once?” Her eyes cut between me and my mom, demanding an explanation.

“There’s a team picture across from the front office,” I said.

“From the look of the picture, it was over sixty years ago.” Mrs. Parnel ’s eyes stretched. “Sixty years ago?” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Is there something wrong with the school? The coach? The athletic director?”

“No biggie,” Scott said. “I’m taking the year off.” Mrs. Parnel set down her fork with a loud chink. “But you love wrestling.”

Scott shoveled in another bite of lasagna and raised an indifferent shoulder.

“And it’s your senior year.”

“So?” Scott said around his food.

Mrs. Parnel planted her elbows on the table and leaned in.

“So you’re not getting into college on your grades, mister. Your only hope this late in the game is that a community college picks you up.”

“I’ve got other stuff I want to do.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Like repeat last year?” As soon as she said it, I saw a spark of fear in her eyes.

Scott chewed twice more, then swallowed hard. “Pass the salad, Blythe?”

My mom handed the bowl of Jell-O to Mrs. Parnell, who set it down in front of Scott a little too carefully.

“What happened last year?” my mom asked, filling the tense silence.

Mrs. Parnel waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, you know how it is. Scott got into a bit of trouble, usual stuff. Nothing every mother of a teenage boy hasn’t seen before.” She laughed, but her pitch was off.

“Mom,” Scott said in a tone that sounded a lot like a warning.

“You know how boys are,” Mrs. Parnel prattled on, gesturing with her fork. “They don’t think. They live in the moment. They’re reckless. Be glad you have a daughter, Blythe. Oh, my. That garlic bread is making my mouth water—pass a slice?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” my mom murmured, passing the bread. “I can’t say enough how delighted we are to have you back in Coldwater.”

Mrs. Parnel nodded vigorously. “We’re just glad to be back, and all in one piece.”

I’d paused eating, dividing glances between Scott and Mrs.

Parnell, trying to figure out what was going on. Boys will be boys, that much I could buy. What I wasn’t buying was Mrs.

Parnel ’s anxious insistence that her son’s trouble fell into the category of typical. And Scott’s close supervision of every word that fell from her mouth wasn’t helping to change my mind.

Thinking there was more to the story than they were saying, I pressed a hand to my heart and said, “Why, Scott, you didn’t go around at night stealing road signs to hang in your bedroom, did you?”

Mrs. Parnel erupted into genuine, almost relieved, laughter.

Bingo. Whatever trouble Scott had wormed his way into, it wasn’t something as harmless as stealing road signs. I didn’t have fifty dollars, but if I did, I would have bet it all on the hunch that Scott’s trouble was anything but the usual stuff.

“Well,” my mom said, her smile pinched at the corners, “I’m sure whatever happened is in the past. Coldwater is a great place for a fresh start. Have you registered for classes yet, Scott? Some of them fill up quickly, especially the advanced placement classes.”

“Advanced placement,” Scott repeated with an amused snort. “As in AP? No offense, but I’m not aiming that high. As my mom”— he reached sideways and shook her shoulder in a way that was just a little too rough to be friendly— “so kindly pointed out, if I go to college, it won’t be for grades.” Not wanting to give anyone at the table a chance to pull us further away from the topic of Scott’s former troubles, I said,

“Oh, come on, Scott. You’re killing me. What’s so bad about your past? It can’t be so horrible that you’re not willing to tell old friends.”

“Nora—,” my mom started.

“Get a few DUIs? Steal a car? Joyride?”

Under the table, I felt my mom’s foot come to rest on top of mine. She directed a sharp look at me that said, What’s gotten into you?

Scott’s chair scraped back against the floor, and he got to his feet. “Bathroom?” he asked my mom. He stretched his collar. “Indigestion.”

“At the top of the stairs.” Her voice was apologetic. She was actually apologizing for my behavior, when she was the one who’d set the whole ridiculous evening up. Anyone with a shred of perceptiveness could see that the point of this dinner wasn’t to share a meal with old family friends. Vee was right—this was a meet cute. Well, I had news for my mom. Scott and me? Not happening.

After Scott excused himself, Mrs. Parnel smiled wide, as if to erase the past five minutes and start fresh. “So tell me,” she said a little too brightly, “does Nora have a boyfriend?”

“No,” I said at the same time Mom said, “Sort of.”

“That’s confusing,” Mrs. Parnel said, chewing a forkful of lasagna and looking between Mom and me.

“His name is Patch,” Mom said.

“Odd name,” mused Mrs. Parnell. “What were his parents thinking?”

“It’s a nickname,” Mom explained. “Patch gets in a lot of fights. He’s always needing to be patched up.” Suddenly I regretted ever explaining to her that Patch was his nickname.

Mrs. Parnel shook her head. “I think it’s a gang name. All the gangs use nicknames. Slasher, Slayer, Maimer, Mauler, Reaper. Patch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Patch is not in a gang.”

“That’s what you think,” Mrs. Parnel said. “Gangs are for inner-city criminals, right? They’re roaches that only come out at night.” She grew silent, and I thought I saw her eyes flick to Scott’s empty chair. “Times are changing. A couple weeks ago I watched a Law & Order about a new breed of wealthy suburban gangs. They called them secret societies, or blood societies, or some such nonsense, but it all boils down to the same thing. I thought it was your typical sensationalized Holl ywood garbage, but Scott’s dad said he’s seeing more of this stuff all the time.

He would know—him being a cop and all.”

“Your husband is a cop?” I asked.

“Ex-husband, rot his soul.”

That’s enough. Scott’s voice drifted out of the shadowy hall, and I jumped. I was on the verge of wondering if he’d gone to the bathroom at all, or if he’d stood just outside the dining room, eavesdropping, when it dawned on me that I didn’t think he’d spoken out loud. In fact—

I was pretty sure he’d spoken to my … thoughts. No. Not my thoughts. His mother’s. And somehow I’d overheard.

Mrs. Parnel flipped her palms up. “All I said was rot his soul— I’m not taking that back, it’s exactly how I feel.”

“I said stop talking.” Scott’s voice was quiet, eerie.

My mom spun around, as if just now noticing that Scott had entered the room. I blinked in dazed disbelief. I couldn’t really have overheard him speaking to his mom’s thoughts. I mean, Scott was human … wasn’t he?

“Is that how you talk to your own mother?” Mrs. Parnel said, shaking her finger at him. But I could tell it was more for our benefit than for any purpose of putting Scott in his place.

His cold stare stayed fixed on her a moment longer, then he retreated to the front door and yanked it shut at his back.

Mrs. Parnel wiped her mouth, pink lipstick staining her napkin. “The nasty side of divorce.” She let go of a long, troubled sigh. “Scott never used to have a temper. Of course, it could be that he’s growing up to be his father’s son. Well. It’s an unpleasant topic and not appropriate for dinner. Does Patch wrestle, Nora? I bet Scott could teach him a few things.”

“He plays pool,” I said, my voice uninspired; I had no desire to talk about Patch. Not here, not now. Not when the subject of his name had caused a rock to swell in my throat. More than ever, I wished I’d brought my cell phone to the table. I wasn’t feeling half so angry, which meant Patch had probably cooled off too. Had he forgiven me enough to send a text or call?

Everything was a tangled mess, but there had to be a way around it. This wasn’t as bad as it seemed. We’d find a way to work it out.

Mrs. Parnel nodded. “Polo. Now there’s a true Maine sport.”

“Pool as in pool halls,” Mom corrected, sounding a little pale.

Mrs. Parnel cocked her head like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Hotbeds of gang activity,” she finally said. “The Law & Order I saw? Wealthy, upper-class young men were running their neighborhood pool halls like Las Vegas casinos.

Best keep a close eye on that Patch of yours, Nora. Could have a side to him he’s keeping from you. A side he’s keeping in the dark.”

“He’s not in a gang,” I repeated for what felt like the millionth time, straining to hang on to a courteous tone.

But as soon as I said it, I realized I had no way of knowing for certain that Patch had never been in a gang. Did a group of fall en angels count as a gang? I didn’t know much about his past, particularly before he met me …

“We’ll see,” Mrs. Parnel said, doubtful. “We’ll see.” An hour later, the food was gone, the dishes were washed, Mrs.

Parnel had finally left to hunt down Scott, and I retreated to my room. My cell was faceup on the floor, showing that I had no new texts, no new messages, and no missed calls.

My lip quivered, and I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears beginning to blur my vision. To keep from dwelling on all the awful things I’d said to Patch, I tried to work out in my mind a way to repair everything. The archangels couldn’t forbid us from talking or seeing each other—not when Patch was my guardian angel. He had to stay in my life. We’d keep doing what we’d always done. In a couple of days, after we’d shaken off our first real fight, things would go back to normal. And who cared about my future? I could work everything out later. It wasn’t like I had to have my whole life planned right this moment.

But there was one thing that just wasn’t adding up. Patch and I had spent the past two months displaying our affection openly, with no reservations whatsoever. So why was he just now showing concern over the archangels?

My mom poked her head inside my room. “I’m going to pick up a few toiletries for my trip tomorrow. I should be back soon.

Need anything while I’m out?”

I noticed she didn’t bring up Scott as potential boyfriend material. Apparently his uncertain past had withered her matchmaking urges. “I’m good, but thanks anyway.” She started to pull the door shut, then stopped. “We sort of have a problem. I let it slip to Lynn that you don’t have a car. She volunteered Scott to drive you to summer school. I told her that really wouldn’t be necessary, but I think she thought I was only saying no because I was worried we’d be putting Scott out. She said you could pay him back for his time by giving him a tour of Coldwater tomorrow.”