Page 26 of The Exit Strategy

How did my life get so derailed that I’ve landed in the one spot where privacy is a theoretical concept, while being hunted by a tabloid, enduring wellness check protocols, untangling a financial crime, and trying very hard not to notice that my boss still smells like cedar?

“Ugh. What the hell are you doing, Junie?” My forehead crashes to the table, and I bite my tongue to keep from screaming at the unfairness of it all.

I wallow for all of thirty seconds before Cole curses loudly. Through the window, I catch sight of him in the yard. He’s on the phone, and from the rigid set of his shoulders, I’d say it’s not a good call. He drags a hand through his hair—a gesture I remember from a hundred late nights at the kitchen table in Boston when he’d be hunched over his internship application, design ideas, or tiny models he’dbuild while I pretended to do my calculus but was really just watching him.

Well, at least until Natalie started sending me photos of myself staring at him like a lovesick puppy dog. Her jealousy had a nasty mean streak I absorbed more than once.

He pockets his phone and stands there for a moment, staring at the ground. Even his posture is familiar. I memorized it at my mother’s funeral. I’ve mimicked it ever since whenever I’ve needed armor. It’s what happens when you’re forced to carry a load that’s too heavy but you’re too stubborn to set it down.

I could go out there and check on him. I could ask if he’s okay.

Instead, I pick up my phone.

Juniper & Her Berries:

Junie: I got wellness-checked by retirees today. They have protocols.

Fen: Are they adopting you?

Fen: Did they add you to the newsletters? Can you get me in?

Hudson: Please tell me you’re eating actual food and not just gas station garbage.

Junie: I ate a muffin, MOM.

Nolan: How’s Cole?

Outside, I know Cole’s reading the messages by the way he hangs his head.

How’s Cole?

Cole’s drowning in a financial disaster his own family created. Cole’s?—

Cole’s a big boy who can answer for himself, so I ignore my brother’s message, knowing a reply from Cole will never come.

Maybe his silence is my version of spite.

We’re standing at the same impasse, blaming each other for not being the first one to cross it.

Teenage me would have flung myself at his feet.

Twenty-four-year-old me knows better.Love is not a renewable resource, and I don’t have much left to give. Not anymore.

I won’t be that girl again—not for someone who has already proven he can so easily walk away.

I close the chat and open my next file, but Bea’s question nags at me.

Do you often throw things away, or only when someone you love betrays you?

No reason to examine why my mind files that question next to Cole’s name instead of Grace’s.

Some things are better left in the dark.

I know that better than anyone.

6

A PROCLIVITY FOR PETTY