Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Okay, how did you never meet him before?” I ask. “Everyone knows everyone here.”
“He’s new. Dr. Kane retired and the animal clinic hired Grady,” Scottie says.
“How about this?” Della says, putting her drink on the table. Cricket grabs a coaster and slides it under the glass. “My friend Lark has a dog. I’ll borrow it, go see Dr. Hottie, and mention my beautiful friend Scottie recommended him. Then I’ll give him your number.”
Cricket holds up her hands. “And how is that any different than her pretending to have an animal?”
“Because Scottie’s not lying,” I say, seeing the beauty in the plan. “Who cares if Della is?”
“I’ll say it’s my friend’s dog. I won’t even be lying.”
Scottie leans back in her chair and points at Della. “You know what, I like that. I like it a lot.”
“Thank God.” Della groans. “There’s only so many times we can go over this.”
“It’s perfect, Scottie,” I say, giving her an encouraging smile. “You don’t want to have to pretend in a relationship. Imagine how hard it would be if we were together and he came by, and you had to try to keep your stories straight.”
Cricket stands, her face flushed. “Does anyone need a drink? Scottie, can I make us drinks?”
“You know where the kitchen is,” she replies.
Cricket takes Della’s glass and leaves.
The room grows eerily quiet once Cricket is gone. Scottie sits on the edge of her chair, her eyes glued to the doorway Cricket just passed through. Della looks at me with raised brows. I run through the last few minutes of conversation and try to figure out what doesn’t fit.
“What do you think it is?” Della asks.
“You notice the awkward silence too?” Scottie asks.
I clear my throat. “I can’t figure out what happened. We were only talking about Scottie and the vet.”
“It’s the way Cricket shot to her feet and couldn’t wait to get out of the room,” Della says before glancing over her shoulder. “Is anything going on with her?”
“Not that I know of,” I say.
Scottie shakes her head. “I had lunch with her yesterday and everything seemed fine.”
“Here you go,” Cricket says, announcing her arrival. “Scottie, you’re in desperate need of a restock on your alcohol.”
“I know,” Scottie says, taking a glass from Cricket. “I keep forgetting.”
“How do you forget alcohol?” Della asks.
“I only drink with you guys,” Scottie says. “If you’re not here or if I don’t know you’re coming, I never even look in that cabinet.”
Cricket hands me a cool glass filled with lemonade and then takes her seat. Her neck is blotchy. I can tell despite her taking her hair down and letting it flow over her shoulders.
“Are you okay, Cricket?” Della asks.
“Me? Yes. I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Della glances at me. As if we’ve done this many times before, I jump in.
“You just seem a little off,” I say.
Her back is perfectly straight, her chin raised. “It’s nothing.”
Scottie reaches over and touches her arm. “Are you sure?”
A single, silent tear trickles down Cricket’s freckled cheek.
What the hell?
“Cricket . . .” Della sets her glass down. “What’s going on?”
My cousin stares at a wall across the room. She sniffles, fighting hard not to break down. Watching her struggle to keep her emotions in check brings my own feelings to the surface.
I reach for her hand, and surprisingly, she places a shaky palm in mine.
“It’s what you said, Gabby,” Cricket says. “About not pretending in a relationship.”
Scottie, Della, and I exchange looks. None of us know what to say. Cricket is the stoic one, the one of the four of us who can put her emotions to the side and think with logic. She’s not the one to cry, not even in front of us.
“What’s going on?” Scottie asks softly. “Tell us. Let us help.”
Cricket laughs, sniffling. “You can’t help me with this.”
“Are you sick?” I ask.
“Is it Kyle?” Della asks.
Cricket’s face darkens. Instead of her growing more frantic or even sadder, as one might expect with an illness or a problem child, an iciness slides over her features. “It’s Peter.”
My brain spins wildly, trying to come up with a possible conflict between the couple that, until I moved onto Bittersweet Court, I thought was perfect. The hotshot CEO and the PTA mom. The sports car–driving husband and the luxury-SUV wife. The charismatic businessman and the trophy wife with their perfect son, on a beautiful street.
What gives? The only thing that I can come up with is the tension at Sunday dinner. Is it always like that and I just didn’t realize it?
Another tear falls.
“My marriage is falling apart, you guys,” she says, the words wobbling. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Oh, honey,” Scottie says, kneeling next to her.
I stand and pull her head into my shoulder. The contact makes her heave a sob. The sound triggers tears for me too.