The girl looked like she was about to pass out. Frances put her hand on Edie’s arm. “You’re not going to get much out of her in this state. Let her sleep it off—we can interrogate her with whips and chains in the morning.”
“But—”
“She’s right, Edie,” Joan interjected. “She’s worthless right now.” She went into the kitchen and returned with a trash can,which she set next to the couch. “Come on, let’s all go to bed. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow and it’s already late.”
Edie glared at her granddaughter as she considered their advice. She finally stalked to the end of the couch, picked up a throw rug artfully draped over one arm, and threw it on Marcy like she was covering a stain.
“Thanks, Nana,” Marcy muttered sleepily, and rolled onto her side.
“She’s killing me,” Edie said as she followed Frances into their room. “Absolutely killing me. She neverlistens.”
“The young never do,” Frances reminded her. “Remember us?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I remember us all too well and Marcy reminds me so much ofme.Remember how stubborn I was? How I could not be told no?”
“Boy, do I,” Frances said with a hearty chuckle.
“Well, that scares the hell out of me, and it should you, too. I made huge mistakes then. Huge! And Stephen is going to kill me.”
“Who?”
“My son. Her father.”
“Okay, okay,” Frances said, throwing up both hands. “One thing at a time. We’ll deal with your son killing you after we get past tonight’s crisis. Look, you made mistakes. We all made mistakes. But you were a badass, Edie. And look on the bright side—Marcy is tenacious. That’s a good quality to have over a lifetime.”
“Maybe,” Edie said. She fell back on the bed. “It could also get her killed.”
Or arrested.Frances could just see that girl showing up in the middle of their heist and blowing it for everyone.
What were they going to do about Marcy?
Frances slept heavily that night, thanks to the little pills the doctor had given her. But she awoke to a throbbing head. She’d probably overdone it yesterday, running around like she was twenty-fiveagain. When she’d checked in with Amani yesterday (she hadn’t wanted to, but one of the medications was nauseating her), Amani had told her to take it easy until she was feeling better. “Rest is your friend, Mrs. Deluca.”
“I am hoping you hear the irony in that statement as clearly as I hear it,” Frances had said pertly.
“My advice is designed to help you be comfortable.”
Amani was so goddammed unflappable. Frances had to admire that.
She groped around for her little black bag of medicinal magic and slogged a handful of pills. She wondered idly how much time she had left. She’d been having such a good time in the last few days she’d forgotten to dwell on the end. Not that it ever really left her—it was like a constant pinprick of pain, stinging in the moment she remembered, but then quickly forgotten. As long as the meds kept kicking in when she needed them to, she could avoid thinking about it too much.
She sat a moment, let the painkiller wash over her, and only then became aware of raised voices. She padded into the living area.
Everyone was there—Marcy, bent over a trash can between her knees; Edie, bent over her, lecturing her about drinking. Joan and Irene dressed and ready to go, Irene leaning one shoulder against the wall, Joan with her legs braced apart as if she thought she might have to fight someone. The room smelled of sick.
Frances pivoted, went back into her room, and took out the pill bottle with the anti-nausea medicine. She shook out a pill and returned to the living room.
“Just so irresponsible,” Edie was saying as she entered.
Frances walked to Marcy and nudged Edie aside. “Take this.”
“What is it?”
“It will help with the nausea.” She pressed the pill into Marcy’s hand.
Marcy didn’t even look at the pill before tossing it into hermouth and grabbing a water bottle from the end table to help gulp it down.
“Why do you have anti-nausea pills?” Irene asked.
