Chapter One
Daphne Carsen’s thirty-eight years on the planet had been generally unremarkable—with the exception of that time she decided to slip into the back pew at the Unitarian church to watch her ex get remarried. Definitely not ranked among her top five best life choices, but rarely does anything good come from combining impetuosity with working through abandonment issues.
She’d made a noble effort to go incognito, but her last-minute dollar-store disguise of gossamer leopard-print scarf tied under her chin and a pair of round, white sunglasses left her looking more like an aging 1950s Hollywood starlet than an agent of espionage. But surprisingly, it had worked—at least until she’d decided to pursue the procession of limos and infiltrate the reception.
Her original intention had been to skulk over to the open bar for a free drink, catch a morbid glimpse of the happy couple, and be out of there. When the DJ introduced Savannah and her new wife, Francesca, as “partners for life” upon their entry into the lavish room overlooking the Sound, Daphne pretended to gag into her perfectly crafted lemon drop.
The bartender pursed her lips. “Something wrong with the drink?”
Daphne flinched, spilling some of the sticky liquid on her hand. “Oh, uh, no, no. It’s actually pretty great. I was, uh, just thinking back to my own marriage,” she stammered. “I’m divorced now so…”
As the bartender’s face contorted with judgment, Daphne shrank into her awkwardness even more. What in the hell am I doing? She tilted her head back and dumped the rest of her drink into her mouth. Instead of leaving with her tail between her legs and a morsel of dignity, she signaled the bartender for another.
Savannah Locke, a voluptuous brunette with prairie-green eyes, was tucked into a curve-hugging, off-white dress and had never looked better. The scars from her surgeries to remove the excess skin were virtually undetectable. But none of this surprised Daphne. Ever since her ex, Ann Marie Cronk, as she used to be known, had morphed into Savannah Locke, all vestiges of the introvert self-conscious of her weight had vanished. Once she’d begun documenting her dramatic weight-loss journey for all of social media’s hungry eyes to devour, she’d become a verified YouTube star and influencer. Her inflated ego and income now allowed her to indulge in any and all pampering and medical and cosmetic procedures necessary to complete her transformation into the person she’d always hoped to be: popular.
Daphne skewered the couple from the bar with a scowl. She’d reveled in her brief life as Mrs. Savannah Locke. They’d paid off their small ranch in a shoreline town in Connecticut, Daphne’s consolation prize in the divorce, and Savannah even purchased a vacation condo in South Florida, but Daphne had never adapted to the way Ann Marie’s self-importance expanded as her waistline shrunk.
Queasy from the couple’s first dance, she glanced away and stared at the array of liquor bottles lining the wall behind the bar, preparing to order her third cocktail. As she licked the remnants of her second lemon drop from the bottom of the martini glass, someone tapped her shoulder. She turned around and met the blinding glare of Savannah’s shiny Caribbean spray tan.
“Daphne?” Savannah said. Her false eyelashes twitched as she seemed to process the disguise. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You look stunning in ivory,” Daphne said. “Is that Versace?”
“You have to leave,” she replied through a clenched jaw. “Crashing your ex’s wedding is bizarre even by your standards.”
“I just needed some closure, that’s all—to know that you and I really are over, and we’ll never get back together.”
“Getting served with divorce papers would provide most people with all the closure they need.”
“What can I say?” Daphne shrugged. “I’m an optimist.”
“That ship has sailed,” Savannah said slowly, coldly. “And you burned the dock when you cheated on me.”
“Again with the cheating?” Daphne rolled her eyes in frustration. “It was a little online diversion that filled the emptiness in my life when you became obsessed with your internet fame. I never even spoke to her in real time. For all I know, she really was some fifty-year-old mail bomber living in his mother’s basement.”
“Not the point.” Savannah scanned their surroundings. “Please lower your voice. I have about three seconds before Francesca finds her way over here, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to explain this.” She indicated Daphne’s getup with a flourish of her arms.
“Speaking of your blushing bride, does she know how intense you are? How wrapped up you get in your Vlogs and responding to each and every one of your adoring followers? How she’ll be enjoying your luxurious vacation property mostly by herself once you tire of her?”
Savannah regarded her with a jagged glare. “I want you to leave now before I have you thrown out.”
Daphne exhaled. Despite the satisfaction in recognizing she’d struck a nerve, she feared she was about to burst into tears at the suffocating weight of finality in Savannah’s loveless eyes. “Good-bye, Savannah. My best to you and the new Mrs. Cronk.”
Her chin up, she marched away with authority in her stride until her heel slid on a wet spot on the floor. After regaining her footing, she pushed through the double doors into the parking lot and pictured the reception hall exploding behind her as she slipped on her sunglasses in the twilight.
Once inside her car, however, she permitted herself the meltdown she’d been holding in since she learned of this day. Leaning her head against the steering wheel, she wept until she flushed away the images of her former life as someone’s favorite human.
After she emptied her tear ducts and exhausted her emotional reserve, she determined that she needed to make changes in her life, to transform the work-day fantasies she’d entertained for years into a workable, sustainable reality. After all, what was the point of keeping a vision board in the kitchen and having a “salvaged-treasure room” if not for her to act on their inspiration?
Wouldn’t it be a nice change to take action in the world instead of always moving in reaction to something beyond her control?
* * *
After leaving the wedding reception and making a drive-thru I’ve hit rock-bottom McNugget run, Daphne found herself in the familiar refuge of her eighty-two-year-old neighbor’s dining room. She and Sophie dove into their second bottle of cabernet, and she reminded herself that she had not included the goal of becoming a binge-drinker on her vision board. But after her encounter with Savannah, getting drunker and eating too many homemade pierogies with an elderly widow would perhaps inspire the much-needed impetus for change.
“Tonight I’m officially swearing off relationships. One and done.” Daphne clinked her wine glass against Sophie’s.
She waved her off with a petite, wrinkled hand. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Daphne.”
“No, I’m serious,” she said, her words starting to slur. “It’s too painful. You fall in love, promise you’ll be together forever, and then one day, bang! Someone wakes up and decides she’s not in love anymore.”
Sophie shook her head, but her perfectly-coiffed white hair didn’t move. “I’m sure that’s an awful feeling, honey, but just because things didn’t work out with Ann Marie doesn’t mean you won’t ever find that special someone to grow old with.”