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Avery, I find, is still asleep. She’s been sleeping a lot the past few days, so I was bummed when the girl from the coffee shop called and canceled today’s dance lesson. No doubt, now she’ll want me to take her shopping. Either that or schlep her friends around. Ironically, all I want to do is sleep.
Mel is speaking to me. I know because I can see her mouth moving, but all I hear is ringing in my ears. She’s holding the door in place, and she’s waving me in. All the while, I just stand there, hands at my sides. Frozen. “Josie?”
I think she says my name once, twice, maybe three times. “Josie? Are you okay?”
I see her glance over her shoulder. My eyes follow hers. No one is going to rescue you.
My eyes shift as the dog comes barreling toward me. June loved that dog. I never did. I brace myself, knowing he’ll dirty my slacks. They’re new, and this outfit has gotten so many likes on Instalook that I can’t bear to have him ruin them.
Thankfully, Mel catches him by the collar. I watch as she wrestles with the dog. It gives me an odd sense of satisfaction. Serves her right.
“You had me worried,” she confesses, once things are under control—meaning, the housekeeper comes and takes possession of the dog. I don’t recognize the lady. June never wanted any staff.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “I’ve always loved this house.”
She ushers me through the doorway. Her expression is relieved. She's transformed since the dinner party. “How lovely to see you.”
“Likewise,” I tell her. I’m struck by how much she looks like June. This makes the words difficult to get out. All I see is my friend. But I know that isn’t possible. She’s dead.
Mel shows me into June’s sitting room. “Please, sit,” she offers, fluffing her dress. She motions toward the table. There are biscuits and tea. The kind I used to tease June about. You must have been a Brit in another life, I’d tell her. Carbs are mostly forbidden on Beth’s diet plan, but for the sake of politeness can sometimes be forgiven. “Tom tells me you like tea.”
“Yes,” I say to her, accepting the cup and saucer. June’s china.
“So—how’ve you been?” I ask. I’m distracted, looking around, trying to mentally take inventory of what has changed and what hasn’t. She’s staring at me now, assessing me, her brow furrowed. I restate my question. “How are things?”
“Good,” she says with a long sigh. She straightens her back. “Great—really.”
I sip my tea.
She narrows her gaze. “Shouldn’t we pray first?”
Of course. How could I have forgotten this? My first mistake. She’s new. She’s trying to make an impression. She’ll want to do everything by the book.
I half-laugh and smooth my hair. “Oh, right,” I tell her with a small wince. “I’m not used to leading. Forgive me.”
She rubs her palms on her dress. She isn’t sure what to say.
I hope this doesn't get back to Tom, because that means it will get back to Grant, and I can't have him thinking me incapable.
“Why don't I lead?” she says, finally.
I raise my brow. “That sounds perfect.” I place my cup and saucer back in its rightful place on the coffee table. She waits as I fold my hands and bow my head. An Austin Home and Garden magazine catches my eye. I want to pick it up, but nothing interrupts prayer. I know the backyard on the cover well. It’s Beth’s. But it’s the address label that catches my eye. It’s addressed to Mel, which seems odd given she hasn’t lived here that long.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, shifting. I look up. “Would you prefer to lead?”
I inhale deeply, and then I stretch my arms out. I get my bearings. “No,” I say, and one side of my mouth forms a smile. “It slipped my mind that Beth had the cover this month. I just realized I forgot to congratulate her.”
She studies my shoes. Or the floor. It’s hard to tell. I can see that she’s taking my distraction personally
. She has a right to. I hate being here, in June’s house, with someone who isn’t June. I hate that I’m wasting my Saturday having tea with someone I don’t really care about. I don’t care how she’s getting on. Or explaining the rules. Or any of that. But I have to make myself. That’s the deal I made.
She looks up and gives me a weak smile. The look robs me of my rage.
“I’m sorry,” I offer. “I’m a bit distracted this morning. Teenagers. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without them.”
“So you don’t mind if I lead us in prayer then?”
I almost do a double-take. I smile instead. “No, of course not. This is your home, so it only makes sense,” I say, and the irritation resurfaces. It's not her home, it's June’s, and aside from her being in it, nothing has changed.
