Page 75 of The Lookback

“Maybe it’s just been broken.” Emery’s smile is shy. “I wonder if you know anyone who might heal it.”

I swat her shoulder.

And someone knocks at the door.

“You really need a dog.” I bump Jed where he’s snoozing at the base of the coffee table. “Your pig sucks at telling you when people are here.”

“I’m sure it’s Tommy,” Mandy says. “He said he’d be by this morning.” She starts brushing at nonexistent lint on her pants.

“Well, get it already,” Maren says. “Can’t keep someone that old waiting.”

“You can’t be here,” Mandy hisses. “You guys have to leave.”

“We do?” I lift my eyebrows. “Because you said last night, you were nervous when he wanted to stay.”

Mandy splutters. “When did I say that?”

“Last night, on the phone.”

She frowns. “Fine, then you answer the door.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “But remember that I was married to Jed. We traveled the world.”

Maren and Emery are rolling their eyes, but I’m smiling as I open the front door. At least, I’m smiling until I see some guy in a white button-down shirt and a blue tie holding a big brown envelope.

“Are you Amanda Brooks?”

That isnotwhat I expect him to say, but then I’m not expecting a nondescript man with thinning brown hair to be at the door at all. I was expecting a very debonair man in his eighties. “Um. Yes. I’m Amanda Brooks.”

The man grins, and I can’t help thinking his parents really should have sprung for braces. “Excellent.” He thrusts the thick envelope at me.

I take it without thinking. “What’s this?”

“You’ve been served.” He snaps a photo with his phone, pivots on his heel, and jogs back to his car.

“Oh, man,” Maren says. “We’re going to be late for school. We better go. You can read whatever that is later.”

“Later?” Mandy asks. “Have you lost your mind, girl? ‘Served’ means she’s beensued. Open it. Find out who’s suing us!”

“Us?” Maren asks.

“We’re in business together,” Mandy says. “It’s got to be something to do with the retreat, and being sued is never good.”

I’m groaning as I slide my finger under the flap of the envelope.

“Seriously, Mom,” Maren says. “Emery and I should go. Maybe I can take your car, and then?—”

“In a second, Maren.” I pull out the papers, and I start to scan, but it’s so much legal mumbo jumbo that I can’t tell. . .until my eyes light on a name I know. “Why does this say the petitioner’s name is Maren Brooks?” I lower my hand and stare right at my little girl. She’s not even eighteen yet, not for nine more months.

And in that moment, I know. No wonder she was desperate to get out of here. She wanted me to have time to cool down before we talked.

“I’m petitioning the court for the right to be emancipated.” She lifts her chin. “Then I can make my own decisions.”

“And who’s paying for this?” I drop one hand to my hip. “On what grounds would you possibly get emancipated? How would you even pay your own bills on your own?”

“It’s that label, isn’t it?” Mandy asks. “The persistent one. They’re paying for this?”

“The lawyer’s working on a contingent fee, sort of,” Maren says.

“What does that mean?” I ask. “Sort of?”

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