I have a listening ear.
Sylvie
I have sweet tea.
Frannie
I have cupcakes.
Rosie
I have books.
You could runfrom my family, but you couldn’t hide.
Believe me, I’d tried.
So on Friday afternoon when a window in Lachlan’s living room eased open as if by magic and Sylvie threw a leg over and fell inside, I didn’t even bother getting up from my cocoon of blankets and misery on the couch. Sure, Lachlan’s house was armed to the very last shingle with the best security system money could buy, but of course that didn’t stop my retired CIA granny.
It was a waste of breath to ask, but I did it anyway. “What are you doing?”
“Young lady”—Sylvie dusted off her pants and stood. “—I’d like to talk to you about your car’s extended warranty.”
My head lolled to the pillow behind me. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to go away?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes and accepted my fate. “Then go let the others in.”
Exactly thirty-four seconds later, the Sutton clan and Frannie stood in my living room, bearing snacks, two gallons of tea, and a bag of paperbacks from the Lost Story.
“Wow.” Frannie walked around the couch, taking a 360 view of my condition. “It’s worse than I thought. When’s the last time you showered?”
“I don’t remember.” Wednesday? Thursday? My days no longer consisted of work and Lachlan. Turns out it was harder to keep tabs on nebulous things like time when you whiled away the hours with Netflix and snot-crying.
“You missed Sexy Book Club on Tuesday,” Sylvie said, “So we knew something was amiss.”
“I thought maybe you’d been kidnapped.” Frannie parked it on a leather chair and unboxed the cupcakes. “Sylvie and I haven’t had to retrieve someone from the clutches of evil in a long time, so I was a little bummed when we learned you were most likely home.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I still had one season ofGrey’s Anatomyto watch, and I really needed the ladies to move it along. “What can I do for you? I’m very busy.”
“We can tell.” Rosie sat at the end of the couch, giving my feet the once-over. “Are those Pac-Man socks?”
I adjusted the blanket with a huff. “Maybe.”
Hattie eased herself to the floor beside me. “And is this really my fashion-obsessed sister wearing Lachlan’s vintage Donkey Kong sweatshirt?”
“I found it in the dryer.” Because I’d looked for it three days ago during an especially bad crying jag. Even laundered, it somehow smelled like Lachlan. “My silk blouses are indisposed.”
“Sugar, Miller talked to Lachlan,” Sylvie said. “We know your husband’s in California…for a while.”
“Elton stopped by the shop.” Rosie pulled off the lid on a gallon jug of tea. “He told us you quit Flair.”
“About darn time.” Sylvie held up her hand for an air high-five, but I couldn’t dredge up the energy to lift my arm or my spirits. “To use the words Hattie says way too much, would you like to talk?”
Hattie grabbed a cupcake from Frannie. “I don’t say that a lot.”
“Like daily,” Rosie countered. “But we love you for it. Now spill, Olivia. Tell us what’s going on.”
