The Locket by Stacey Jay Read Free Book Online

number where he could reach her.
    Maybe she knew that the locket had power . . . magic.
    “Let’s go,” I said. “See you Monday. Congratulations.” I gave Sarah a quick hug and turned back to Mitch. “You ready?”
    “Ready.” While we circled the house and walked down the crowded drive to Mitch’s family van, I did my best to talk myself back from the brink of a crippling anxiety attack.
    This was crazy, but it could also be that miracle I’d been praying for. I settled into the passenger seat of Mitch’s car and buckled in. As we pulled away into the darkness, I let my fingertips brush against my new scar. It wasn’t that big, or that noticeable, and it would be a small price to pay for a second chance.
    Mitch and I didn’t say a word in the ten minutes it took to cross town, but that was fine. The silence between us was comfortable again. Easy. At least until we pulled into my driveway.
    “See you Monday.”
    “Yep. Monday,” he said. “It was fun hanging out with you tonight.”
    “You too.” I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. He looked sad again, sadder than I’d seen him in years.
    I knew a good friend would ask him what was wrong and ask him if he wanted to talk. Mitch wasn’t like Isaac; he liked to talk through things that were bothering him.
    But unfortunately, I had too much of my own angst to deal with.
    “Let’s do it again soon?” I asked, promising myself I’d make time for Mitch as soon as I figured out what was going on in my own crazy life.
    “Sounds good.” He still looked like someone had killed his pet bunny, but I tried not to worry too much as I climbed out of the car and hurried up the front steps. Mitch would be fine, heck, he’d be better than fine. We were all going to be better off if tonight was real. Me, Mitch, and Isaac.

Chapter Four
    SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 11:32 A.M.
    I t was Sunday morning in Nashville but after eleven o’clock at night in Singapore and my grandmother hadn’t come back to her hotel room or checked her messages. I still couldn’t get the locket off—after trying for nearly two hours—and I was no closer to figuring out how I’d come to be two weeks in the past than I was before.
    But I almost didn’t care.
    I hadn’t been able to get Isaac on his cell last night, but he’d called this morning a little after seven. He’d apologized for thirty minutes and sworn he would make it up to me for missing the play. For once, he seemed to get that he’d let me down. He was going to take me somewhere special to celebrate my performance as soon as he and his family got out of church.
    Squee! I couldn’t wait to see him! To hug him, and kiss him, and see his smile and know for certain that everything was really going to be all right.
    Never in my life had I resented the fact that Baptists don’t have services on Saturday nights as much as I did this morning. Isaac was going to have to convert to Catholicism when we got married. Confession and occasionally creepy priests aside, being Catholic was just so much more convenient to Sunday morning relaxing.
    Not that I could relax. At. All.
    “You’re pacing again,” Mom shouted over the clatter of mixing dishes landing in the sink.
    “Sorry.” I stopped at the edge of the counter, absently flipping through yesterday’s mail. September postmarks, all of it, including the college information I’d requested and already sorted through. Two weeks ago.
    I was going to have to redo all the work I’d done, but that was fine. I was happy to do everything over, anything to have a second chance with Isaac. Of course, this time two weeks ago, I’d been moping in my room—angsting out about my infidelity and general wretchedness—so I didn’t quite know what to do with myself right now. It was making me nervous, twitchy.
    “That’s okay.” Mom laughed as she reached around me, grabbing the pot holders from their hook.
    Sunday was her baking day. She made all our bread and muffins for the week