In way too many shots, I'd been in the background – or worse, tugging at Flynn, trying to make him leave.
On the phone, Becka replied, "I'm not sure, but he wanted to know if you and Flynn were more than friends."
"What did you tell him?"
"Oh, it wasn't me talking to him. It was mom."
My stomach sank. "Please tell me you're joking."
"Nope."
I sighed. "Okay, what didshetell them?"
"Heck ifIknow. I was in class."
"So you heard all of this from Mom?"
"Yup."
I frowned into the phone. "So was she irritated?"
"You mean Mom? Hardly. The way it sounded, she was loving every minute of it."
Damn it."I should've known."
"No kidding," Becka said. "Get this. She invited him in for coffee."
I grimaced. "She didn't."
"Oh, she did."
"But I don't get it," I said. "Mom's so into her image. Why would she inviteanyoneinto the apartment? I mean, the place is kind of…" I paused, not wanting to say it.
"A dump?"
"Uh, yeah, actually."
For the last few years, ever since losing all her money, along with the house and cars, Mom had been shockingly good at pretending that none of it had happened.
It wasn't as hard as you'd think. She still had an impressive wardrobe along with the attitude she'd acquired back in better days, when she'd been the undisputed queen of the city – in her own mind, anyway.
Now I just prayed that the interview had been brief and vague, revealing nothing that I wouldn't want the world to see.
Unfortunately, in what was becoming a sad little trend, my prayers went totally unanswered – and Flynn was no help.
