Page 40 of Quiver

Kylie finally came to a complete stop and cocked her head to the side. “Why does it make me sad to know you know that?”

Fletcher shrugged. “Probably the same reason it makes me sad to think of you trudging through the snow to eat something you could chop up and toss in a bowl at home.”

Kylie seemed to consider that for a second, then smiled slightly. “I could’ve made a salad at my mom’s house.”

“Probably, yeah, but you do you.”

She shook her head.

“Okay, or be someone else. I guess that’s a thing in your world.”

Tears brimmed in Kylie’s eyes, and Fletcher immediately regretted everything she’d said … maybe ever.

Kylie looked away, but her jaw muscles worked as if she were actively trying to hold something in, and it would’ve been better for both of them if she succeeded, but Fletcher couldn’t watch her fight this hidden threat without feeling some defensiveness of her own. She rose and stood beside her for one painful second, then pulled out a chair.

Kylie sank into it without meeting her eyes and said to no one in particular, “I’ll be okay.”

She sat down opposite her.

“I always figure something out. I have enough credit to my résumé to do regional theater, and maybe I could be a good teacher.” She shook her head. “I have the knowledge and craft, but maybe not the temperament.”

Fletcher sat back and watched her mind work its way out of her mouth. Kylie had always talked out her problems.

“I used to be good with kids, not that I’ve known any of them for a long time. Maybe UVM needs adjuncts. I think the pay’s not great, but maybe better than commercials.” She shuddered even though she was still wearing her coat and hat.

A waitress came by and did a double take, but Kylie didn’t even seem to notice her after she’d said, “Can I bring you something to drink, Ms. Manchester?”

Fletcher shifted in her seat. “How about water, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup for our local superstar, Sharon? Maybe she’ll remember her manners once she thaws out a bit.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Sharon smiled brightly at them both. “Boy, this brings back memories of you two always having your heads together or scurrying around town in your own little world when you were teenagers. It was like the rest of us didn’t even exist. I’d never seen any two kids more absorbed in each other for so long, even the ones who ended up getting married.”

Fletcher shifted in her seat.

“Anyway,” Sharon continued happily, oblivious to her discomfort, “it’s nice to see you two out together after all this time.”

“We are not together,” she said, but Sharon had already walked away, only now several other people from nearby tables had noticed them, too. She worked hard not to make eye contact.

“Kylie,” she said softly, “I know you’re running your own internal monologue, you freaking drama queen, but you’ll regret doing this in the morning. Not that I care, except you’re great at roping me into your breakdowns.”

Kylie didn’t even acknowledge she’d been spoken to as she continued talking to the voices in her head. “I was only trying to stand up for myself, you know? It’s such a fine line between being a bitch and a doormat.”

Fletcher snorted softly. “I haven’t found that to be true.”

“Do you know Sophia LeBlanc and I started in this business the same damn year?”

“Don’t even know who that is,” she said, though she suspected the question had been rhetorical.

“She did a B-grade movie so bad it was a half step above porn, and I won a Golden Globe.” She laughed mirthlessly. “But now I’m lying and scratching and fighting and groveling in a fucking barn to get her to give me ten minutes of her attention.”

“My barn? I wouldn’t say you’ve made it all the way to groveling, or did you mean you groveled for this Sophia whatever-her-name-is? Doesn’t matter. You’re not even talking to me. I’m just the convenient connection, again.” A prick of anger niggled at her brain.

“And Mimi.” She slapped her hand on the table hard enough to rattle Fletcher’s silverware. “She works for me. Supposedly.”

“Kylie.” She tried again to break through her mounting agitation as she heard an echo of Gram’s voice saying maybe she needed a not-so-nice girl. This couldn’t have been the level of torture she’d intended.

“Where’s she been for months? She pops in to give me some bullshit pep talk, then when I do what she tells me, she lectures me about burning bridges I haven’t been able to cross in years.” Her voice went up another several decibels and a full octave. “And who the hell does—”

“Kye!” Fletcher snapped sharply.