Page 97 of Go Back to December

My focus is drawn first to the coat, and the beautiful lines of the cut. The belt nips in at my waist, and the high cowl-neck collar circles my throat. With my cheeks aflame, and my hair falling out of its bun, the color doesn’t wash me out. It’s one shade lighter than my eyes.

It fits. The length, the shoulders. The color.

“You belong in that coat,” Sybil says.

“I can’t afford this coat.”

She turns me away from the mirror. “What value do you place on it? Value,” she repeats. “Not price.”

“They’re the same.”

Sybil shakes her head. “Value is the measure you take of things. What does it stand for, this coat?”

I grasp the velvety cuff. “Warmth.”

She nods.

“Power,” I whisper.

“Why power?”

“It makes me feel strong. Like beautiful armor.”

It sounds bananas, but Sybil hums, like she agrees. “Are you, Melody Johnson, in possession of those things? Warmth? Strength?” Her brow arches. “Power to drive a certain malign-legged attorney completely insane?”

I bite my lip so it will stop trembling.

“Your value is far, far above that beautiful swath of fabric. It’s up to you to define it.”

Tears prick my eyes, and Sybil swears as she reaches for a roll of paper towels. “You’re going to kill me with this leaking.”

I take the towel, offering her a side-eye.

Despite her surly tone, there’s a glisten in Sybil’s eyes too.

The champagne stroll is a Money Honey cover spread.

We join at the last stop at the home of the venerable Oriana Lake selectwoman, who is essentially the mayor of Money Honeyville. A deck the size of a steamship stretches out from the back of her immaculate house. Kids are piling up snow sculptures along the patch of frost-covered beach bordering the lake. Patio heaters keep off the worst of the cold so that the guests can truly appreciate the properly chilled champagne.

Sybil accepts two of the half-poured glasses, grumbling, “Why can’t they fill them? Don’t they realize it’s more work this way?”

I’m tempted to retrieve the bottle for her. I could flip this coat inside out so the black side shows. Blend in with the other servers.

Instead, I pull the gorgeous coat tight around me and remind myself I can drink champagne as well as I can pour it.

After knocking back both glasses, Sybil says, “I’m getting a full refill. Care for a glass?”

“No, thanks.” I’m already dizzy with my surroundings, my stomach in knots.

“Will you stop?” Luiza crosses the deck, phone plastered to her ear. She’s wearing a hot-pink ski jacket and matching tight-fitting snow pants that hug her curves. “Calm down. They won’t serve me any—”

Her words cut out as her eyes clap on me. A giant grin breaks out on her face.

I hold a gloved finger to my lips and point to her phone.

She hangs up abruptly and bounds over to me, nearly trampling a couple clad in matching Olympic ski parkas.

“What are you doing here?” She squeals as she hugs me. “Baz said you couldn’t get off work. Oh my God, this coat.”