He chuckled softly. “That, you did. Hey, Trinity and Wyatt dropped by my office today. They’re looking for a place.”
“Is that right?” I asked, finding myself almost unfazed by the way my sister hadn’t told me about it. It helped that I knew I’d done everything I could to keep our friendship tight. “How’s the market?”
“Booming.”
“So you think you can help them?”
“Not on their budget.”
“I thought Wyatt had a good job?” I frowned.
As far as I knew, senior engineers in Winston-Salem made bank.
“He does. He also has a crap-ton of debt after his first marriage. His ex bled him dry. And from what I was able to gather when I showed them an old colonial a little outside of Fairhope limits, your darling sister has somehow managed to blow all of her savings on her wedding.”
I winced. “See? There were pros to not getting married, I suppose.”
Rob laughed. “Honey lamb, you were worth the bankruptcy. I was just too stupid to realize it at the time.”
When I pulled up to the bungalow, I felt borderline optimistic. Sure, internally, my heart was still melting down in thermonuclear fashion just thinking about Cruz. But today smelled of possibilities (and too much flowery perfume. Some of the boutiques I applied to really needed to take it down a notch).
It reminded me that things could and would be different. That I had the power to turn my life around. And even though my family was a pain, there was Rob, who seemed really helpful, and Bear, who was slowly coming out of his shell, finding his roots with his dad.
There was almost a spring to my step as I got out of my Honda Odyssey and made my way to the door.
But then a person stood up from the rickety rocking chair on my front porch.
My archnemesis, to be specific.
The woman I hated more than the Antichrist himself.
No, not Catherine Costello.
Not Trinity or Mom, either.
The one who’d claimed I tried to kill her—Gabriella Holland.
Gabriella Holland.
What was she doing here?
Without a gun, no less.
I didn’t peg her for the kind of girl who could pull off a murder without a firearm. She just didn’t have it in her.
Still, I found myself striding at an even pace all the way to my porch, flinging my bag across my shoulder and tossing my keychain around my finger. The picture of nonchalance.
“Nessy.” Gabriella twisted her fingers together in her lap. “Can I come in for a sec?”
She looked a little shell-shocked, her curls not quite so puffy and perfect, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I stuck my key into the lock, twisting it in place. “You might claim I tried to kill you again, and I heard lawyers are expensive.”
“I think the state provides you with a lawyer if you can’t afford one,” she said kindly. “Anyway, I promise you want to hear what I have to say.”
She fell into step with me.
I pushed the door open and walked in, and she invited herself inside. I clutched my phone close to my chest like a lifeline. I didn’t trust this woman, who’d always been vile to me, but especially so since Cruz had entered the picture.
“Can I offer you anything? Water, coffee, tranquilizer, peanuts?” I made my way to the kitchen, and she followed suit.
Maybe it was too soon to make that joke, but I had zero guilt in me. I knew what I did and didn’t do.
And I hadn’t put peanuts in her sundae.
Gabriella giggled behind me. “Water’s fine. I’ll pass on the peanuts.”
“Shocker.” I opened my fridge, pulling out two bottles of water, still securely capped. If this was a ploy to throw me in the can again, she had another thing coming. I handed her one of the bottles. “How’re you feeling, anyway?”
“That’s nice of you to ask.”
She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. We were both still standing up. It was surreal, to have her in my house. A few months ago, I would have felt self-conscious about how small and cozy this place was.
Now, however, I couldn’t find it in me to care.
If there was something I’d found out recently, it was that a person’s wealth was not measured in money or belongings. Rather, it was nestled at the bottom of their soul. It was their wishes, their hopes, their character, and their ability to lift others instead of dragging them down.
“I’m feeling much better. I guess the amount of peanuts I consumed was very small, which helped. And the EpiPen definitely made a difference. By the time I got to the hospital, all they had to do was give me a shot of cortisone straight to my butt cheek and put me on some oxygen for a few hours while they monitored my condition. It was pretty straightforward.”
“I’m glad.”
“Nessy, there is something I want to tell you. To be frank, I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this. I just think you should know.”
“Okay.”
I leaned against the counter. The exact same spot where Cruz cornered me not too long ago and gave me a scorching kiss seconds before Bear walked in.
Lord, I was a world-class clown for managing to lose this man.
“I went to see Cruz yesterday—”
Here we go, I thought.
They were getting married. She was probably already pregnant. She won the battle, the fight, the war, and was now rubbing it in my face.
“Good for you,” I said, way too cheerfully.
“I’m not done. I went to him to see if he wanted to get back together.” She paused. “He didn’t.”
“Oh.”
It was crazy, the things my heart did in my chest in that moment. It was some next-level, Cirque-du-Soleil stuff. Apparently, the Elation was more than just a cruise ship.
“He brought something to my attention before I went home. The fact that I never take my EpiPen anywhere with me, even when I go to restaurants.”
I watched her carefully, unsure where this was going.
“Okay…”
Gabriella sighed, putting the cool water bottle to her forehead, apparently out of sorts.
“What I’m trying to say is, someone must’ve known I was going to need my EpiPen and made sure I had it in my purse.”
I kept watching her, waiting for more. Her gaze swung up and met mine.
“My mother, Nessy. My mother put it there. I used the power of deduction. It couldn’t have been Coulter, because Coulter knows about my allergy, and because he’s a real sweetheart who’d never hurt a soul, no matter how obscenely untalented he is in the kitchen, which is a culinary assault in itself.”
It was the first time I’d heard Gabriella crack a joke, and I had to admit, as far as wisecracks went, it wasn’t a terrible one.
“And you wouldn’t have done that, either. Why would you? You won Cruz. He was yours. And you’ve put up with so much of our… our… behavior,” she seemed to settle on a word, “over the years, it seemed out of character and out of place for you to pull something like that all of a sudden. Not to mention, I told you at least three times I didn’t want peanuts in my sundae, and you knew things could go south. You would never do that to your son.”
Something cracked in me when she said it. The acknowledgement from her that I was a decent mother made my heart go to her. I swallowed hard. She continued.