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“I have to stay. They’re going to start warming Tom’s temperature back to normal tonight. They’re also going to ease him off sedation. He might wake up,” I said, more out of hope than anything. The odds were that he was never going to regain consciousness, but I had to believe. Tom wouldn’t want me to give up on him like almost everyone else had. My heart couldn’t take the thought either.
Lorelai reached across the table, took my hand, and squeezed it. “I’ll be praying, darlin’.”
“Thank you.” I squeezed back.
Colette’s hands moved up to my neck, where she skillfully kneaded the tense muscles. “Will Brooks be coming back?”
I shrugged.
Lorelai flashed Colette an impish grin. “Would you like me to make him date thirty-six? Perhaps you could use your feminine wiles on him and he’ll change his mind about writing a poor review about our spa.”
“No, thank you. He’s not my type,” I lied. “Besides, he’s dating someone.”
Lorelai laughed while Colette patted my head.
“Would you rather take hobbit boy to your reunion?” Colette asked.
“Y’all know our history. Because of him, I have some weird need to recreate my prom. No way am I letting him spoil my night, again. Besides, he hasn’t even RSVP’d, and technically, since he was our class president, he should be spearheading this. But, according to the organizer of our ten-year reunion, he told her reunions were a waste of time,” I whispered for some reason, even though I didn’t expect Brooks to come back. In fact, his momma was madder than a hatter at him, because instead of being at the hospital, he and Morgan were attending some live TED Talk tonight about what happens when you donate your brain to science. June had quipped that she wished Brooks would get a brain and dump Morgan. I felt like that was a reasonable wish.
Colette removed her glorious hands from my neck and took the seat next to me. Her gorgeous sea-green eyes were all lit up. She was honestly the cutest thing, with her dark pixie-cut hair. Not many women could pull that off, but she had the best cheekbones on the planet and a sweetheart-shaped face. She was the youngest of the three of us at thirty-six. Like me, she had never been married or had children. She was more okay with it than me. At least she wasn’t taking ovulation tests every month. “What if,” she breathed out, “fate is giving you a chance at a full redo?”
“Ooo. Yes.” Lorelai closed the lid to her laptop. “I can feel the powerful energy of that statement. I mean, what are the odds that he shows up at our spa? And not to be too morbid, but the timing of his daddy’s illness might not be coincidental either. It’s like the stars are aligning and pulling you together.”
I loved Lorelai and honestly believed in energy healing, yet sometimes she took things too far. “Ladies, I love you both more than my signed Working Class Dog Rick Springfield album—the one he sweated on—but you’re both a little nutty.”
“I don’t know. I agree with Lorelai. Something just feels right about all of this,” Colette sighed dreamily.
“His daddy could be dying. There’s nothing right about that,” I said without any bite.
“No one is saying that, darlin’. However, God works in mysterious ways. And from the sound of it, I would say he’s trying to kill ten birds with one stone.” Lorelai was ever the optimist.
I waved them off. The only stone God needed to send was the one to knock me upside the head. I needed to forget about Brooks. “Let’s change the subject, shall we? How many tickets have we sold?” I hated talking money or details at a time like this, but people were counting on me. And Tom and Daddy, bless their souls, had already donated a lot of their own money to the Class of 1999 Alumni Association, a.k.a. my pet project. Tom would want me to go through with this. I had to admit, I needed the distraction too. The last couple of days had been like an emotional hurricane.
Lorelai opened her laptop and pulled up the spreadsheet where we were keeping track of all the tickets sold and the expenses. She scrolled down. “To date, we have sold fifty-six single tickets and one hundred and two double tickets, including yours.” She wagged her brows. “The question is, Who will your double be?”
I rubbed my temples. “I’m working on it. Do either of you have any other fresh bodies?”
Both ladies thought.
“My pastor is single,” Colette chirped.
“Hmm. How does he feel about dirty dancing?” I teased, sort of. I liked to get up close and personal when I danced.
Colette giggled. “Well . . . he did give a sermon last week on how evil can be disguised as anything, including music. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the playlist we gave the DJ. But he’s pretty cute. He even has dimples.” She was a sucker for those.
