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Allison examines the battle scene of clothes laid across her bed and tries very hard not to cry. It's almost as hard doing it now as it was the first time—now, when she's going back, and then, when she was leaving.
There's a lot less clothing to pack this time. A lot of Allison's outfits—most of the pretty, fashionable stuff—got put in bags and taken to thrift stores before she and dad left for France last May. She wasn't anyone's girlfriend anymore, and she doubted she'd be making any new friends overseas. Allison had never been great at looking pretty just for herself.
It's pretty much just her hunting clothes left. Funny, how much that seems to fit. Just the hunter left.
Lydia has assured Allison over the phone that they can do a shopping spree before school starts, after she's all moved in. Just us girls, she'd said, classic.
There's no Lydia right now—although Allison can kind of hear her snide comments in the back of her head if she thinks about it hard enough. There's no Aunt Kate or mom to help her pick what to pack anymore, either, and dad is out "tying up a couple loose ends"—not that he would be able to do much better than Allison is. But at least then she'd have someone around to be strong for. They would be strong together.
But it's just Allison. Just the hunter, and her grief, and the teeth in her mouth that are too jagged for the life she's about to walk back into. She swipes her wrist under her eye and snaps opens her suitcase.