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Constance shrugged. “I’ll do the massages.” She shoved her remaining pizza away. “Those rich donors want the classic spa massage. They want to say, ‘My shoulders hurt,’ and have me rub their shoulders. They feel smart and in charge and you get money for the dogs. It’s a no-brainer.”
Dolores came by with the check, which Sunny grabbed. “Are you cooking for Thanksgiving?” Sunny’s intention had been to steer the conversation toward something that made Constance happy, like cooking. But then, she hadn’t cooked a Thanksgiving feast last year, with Daddy being gone.
Constance was staring out the window again, and Sunny got the distinct feeling she’d ruined whatever glow her sister had come in here with. “Yeah, I’ll cook.”
Sunny slipped a bill in the little folder. “I’ve got to get home to the brood.”
Constance nodded, still not meeting Sunny’s gaze.
Sunny reached out and covered her sister’s hand with her own. Constance snapped her head around. “I think you should go back to the rope-climbing, tire-flipping gym tomorrow,” Sunny said. “If you want my opinion.”
Constance slid her hand away. “Did you hear what I said?” Her tone held the cold iron of Daddy’s voice when anyone tried to tell him what to do. “I hated that place.”
“Yeah.” Sunny grabbed her purse and rose up. “I heard you. You hated that place.”
