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Winter grabbed her into another hug, swayed with it.
“That’s my girl. You’re really all right?”
“I’m really mad. I’m so damn mad, and furious with myself for not seeing what he was.”
“I didn’t see it. I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I didn’t see it. You know what they say about hindsight. I can look back and say, oh sure, that, and that and there. I should’ve known. What good does that do?
“I’m going to sit.”
And she did.
“I was so worried I’d find you heartbroken that I didn’t have room to let the anger out. Now that I know you’re not? The hell with him.”
“The hell with him,” Cleo echoed, and walked over to tap her glass to Winter’s.
“Okay.” Sonya did the same. “The hell with him.”
“You need to change the locks.”
“I took his key, Mom.”
“Change them anyway. Where do you think he’ll go?”
“Don’t know.” Sonya toasted again. “Don’t care.”
“No, really. I’ve got another bottle of wine in the car. And boxes the nice young man at the liquor store gave me. We can use them to pack up his things—clean sweep. And I’ll take them to him.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, my only child, I insist.” Iced fury came into her mother’s changeable hazel eyes. “He’d probably go to Jerry’s, wouldn’t he? Best man, close friend. I can go by on my way home and dump them.”
“I love you, Winter.” Cleo sat beside her, snuggled in. “I love my mama, and I love you. Sonya and I hit the mama lottery. Maybe when we’re packing up his crap, some of those cashmere sweaters he’s so fond of end up with little pulls and snags. And it would be a shame if a couple of his fine leather jackets somehow ran into something sharp.”
“Girlfriends are the best friends,” Winter said. “We could do that, or we could let that go knowing he lost the best thing he could’ve had in his life. I’m betting he knows it.”
“I still want to bury a pair of his boxers under a full moon. Curse him with chronic jock itch.”
Winter smiled. “That seems fair. Let’s go get those boxes.”
They packed. His two tablets, his laptop, the Alexa. His collection of watches, cuff links. Shoes. So many shoes.
Sonya remembered his luggage—Globe-Trotter, of course—so they packed those pieces with shirts, jackets, sweaters, suits, sportswear.
They boxed up toiletries.
“He’s got more skin and hair products than I do.” Cleo held up an unopened package of moisturizer. “Do you know what this brand costs? And he’s got an unopened spare?”
“Keep it,” Sonya told her. “Hell, take anything you want.”
“Only if it’s unopened. Anything else has his cooties in it. Are you sure you don’t want it?”
“Absolutely. I don’t want any of it.”
“Then I’ll take it. Winter, how about we split anything that’s still sealed. We’ve got eye gel—and eye masks—serum. I had a sample of this serum once, and it’s great. I’m making a pile.”
Winter just nodded, stepped back, hands on hips. She’d used one of Sonya’s hair ties to pull her chin-length hair—nearly the same shade as her daughter’s—back in a stubby tail. Her eyes, hazel to Sonya’s deep green, scanned the now loaded bathroom counter.
“We’re going to need more boxes.”
