The Harrison mansion is a far cry from the trailer park I grew up in. It’s four times the size of my childhood home. I can’t imagine growing up here, in a place free of roaches and bitter cold nights.
Abigail greets me at the door with a warm smile. Despite the size of her home, she’s never been anything but kind to me, which, unfortunately, has not always been my experience with people with money. Growing up, I was looked down on because of my home life, seen as a charity case.
I hated it.
Abigail was one of the first people I met who knew nothing about my past and just treated me as a person. It was nice.
“Hello, dear. It’s so good to see you.” She pulls me into a hug, and I sink into it, taking more comfort from it than I should. This is our routine every time I come over to discuss anything for one of the many committees we run together.
“Hi, Abigail,” I say, stepping out of her hug even though my worries are always less—well, just less—when she hugs me like that, and latelyI’ve really needed them to be less because it feels like I’m carrying a led weight around my neck and trying to tread water. My job. The Birdies. My mom—whose calls and texts I’ve been ignoring for weeks, ever since the day of the board meeting. It’s all been heavy. Add in what I learned about Theo at the custody hearing, and I’m pretty sure I’m on the verge of cracking.
Theo’s an addict.
Those words are so far off base from the man I know. He may drive me crazy, but he’s a good man—not an addict. He can’t be because every addict I’ve ever known is still one.
I’ve been trying to convince myself that I can trust my judgment after my screw-up with Tanner last year, but if Theo is an addict—and I didn’t know—maybe the reality is I can’t. Perhaps the board would be right to let me go.
I didn’t realize I had spaced out until Abigail called my name. “Lily, dear, are you okay?”
You don’t belong here,the voice echoes.
Pasting on a smile, I do what I do best. Fake it.
“I’m fine. Shall we?” I ask, motioning inside.
She doesn’t move at first, cocking her head to study me. Her green eyes bore into me, making me squirm, but just when I’m afraid she’ll call me out on it, she smiles and says, “We shall.”
I follow her into the house, which is just as extravagant on the inside as it is on the outside.
“I’m so glad you could come today,” Abigail says, looking back at me as she leads me to a formal sitting room. “The end of summer festival will be here before we know it, and there is still so much to do.”
I press my lips together and smile. “I’m willing to help any way I can.”
With everything that’s happening, I need to feel useful. Like I can actually get something right.
She stops, taking my hand in hers. “I know you are, dear.” Her gaze is searing as she looks at me, and even though I didn’t voice my thoughts of uselessness aloud, I think she still sees it written on my face. “I’m going to say this one time and one time only, Lily Carson. The board is a bunch of numskulls.”
I can’t stop the bark of shocked laughter that slips past my lips. Abigail is always put together and classy, so for her to resort to name calling— it is unexpected to say the least.
“Thank you, but you don’t have to say that. It’s okay if you agree with them. The Birdies certainly do,” I say, starting toward the couch, but she tightens her grip on my arm, not letting me go.
“The opinion of the Birdies in the board’s decision has nothing to do with one another. The Birdies recognize that you are a strong, capable woman, and sometimes strong, capable women often must steel their spine in their adversities, sometimes making us look cold. But the strongest of women know when to be soft, too. And that softness is what the Birdies want to see from you.”
My throat aches as I try to swallow past a lump. I reach up, holding onto my necklace. The cool feel of the metal against my skin grounds me.
It’s hard to be soft when life has made you hard.
“I understand, ma’am.”
“Do you?” She asks, cocking her head and lifting a brow.
Not at all.But I won’t admit that to her. So I lie.
“Yes, ma’am.”
If she sees through my lie, she doesn’t call me out for it, and that’s good enough for me.
Satisfied, she drops my arm and moves to sit in her chair. It’s a high-back Victorian chair that might as well be a throne, and in Abigail’s world, it probably is.
