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Rhiannon went back to her phone, lifting an eyebrow.
“Well, are you going to keep talking or what?”
“Class is out for the day. I need to check on the progress upstairs,” she said, slipping o the stool. She managed to suppress her grin until she reached the stairs.
EXHAUSTED, Carmela got home and kicked o her shoes.
Juggling the new listing with her other active clients had taken more out of her than she liked. It was nearly ten at night before she finally returned the last email on a deal she’d been working for months.
Tossing her mail on the kitchen counter, she’d never been so happy to be enveloped by the calm silence of her little house. Reaching into her fridge for three-day old takeout and an open bottle of wine, she answered the buzz in her pocket and replied to a client before tossing the phone on the counter. Sometimes she fantasized about turning the thing o , but with so many agents in the world, she couldn’t risk annoying her clients and sending them running elsewhere.
While the microwave revitalized the chicken and broccoli, she sorted the junk from the bills and set aside the letter from Rainbow Hope House, the shelter for homeless LGBT+
youth she donated ten percent of her income to every year.
She cocked her head to the side when she reached a huge white envelope addressed to her in fancy calligraphy.
“What new trick for getting me to open junk mail is this?” she asked herself as she flipped the envelope over to read the handwritten return address on the back flap. She recognized the last name and address. Jackie’s parents’
house. Her blood turned to ice.
Carmela opened the bottle of wine and drank from it directly. Only one thing came in such a large,
thick, hand-addressed white envelope.
Ignoring the beeping microwave indicating dinner was ready, Carmela took the bottle and the envelope to the couch.
She stared at it as if she could will herself to have X-ray vision. With another gulp of Chardonnay for luck, she ripped open the seal and the half-healed wound on her heart.
In the fancy invitation inside, she confirmed her fear. In five months, just days before the very single Carmela turned forty, her ex was getting married. And because the universe was angry at her for some unknown a ront, she was invited to the destination wedding.
The silence that had been comforting became oppressive as Carmela stared at the invitation. They hadn’t spoken to each other in the three years since they’d separated. Carmela had reached out to her one very sad night a couple of years ago, but after that, nothing.
Just looking at her name made her want to puke. It triggered a flood of memories made over nearly ten years.
There had been good times, but all Carmela could remember in that moment were the bad. The mind games, infidelity, resentments, and never-ending fights.
Why the hell are you inviting me to your wedding, you sadist?
And in that thought, Carmela had her answer. Some people never changed. To combat the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, Carmela turned on the TV and played her favorite movie on a streaming service. If the
zombies from 28 Days Later couldn’t get her mind o things, nothing could.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
POPPING ANTACIDS IN HER MOUTH, Carmela turned on the guided meditation and waited for it to blast through the speakers in her car. As soon as it started, she closed her eyes, tried to forget her wine hangover, and relaxed into her headrest.
Even with her dark sunglasses on, the nearly noonday sun blasting her from above was irritating. Why Rhiannon had decided to show the house at this time was beyond her, but she wasn’t going to let her do it alone. Especially since she’d looked up her contacts and confirmed they were serious developers who had built half of Delray Beach.
The trip to Yeardsley’s house had been quicker than she anticipated. While parked behind the garage to o er an unobstructed view of the house, Carmela used the time to get herself centered. She was haunted by dreams of her ex and whoever Dr. Vera Lerner was.
When her car door opened unexpectedly, Carmela jumped.
“Oh nice, I do a meditation like this too,” Rhiannon said as she invited herself into her car.
In a bright blue dress and trendy yellow jacket, Rhiannon was radiant. Carmela averted her eyes and muted the recording. They sat in silence for a second before a luxury SUV appeared in her peripheral vision.
“Well, hello to you too,” Rhiannon sniped before opening the car door again. “They’re here,” she explained unnecessarily. Who else would be driving up the private drive?
