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“Don’t be.” Julia’s smile was tight and brisk. “Didn’t some comedian say no happy marriage ever ended in divorce?”
Naomie shook her head. “What happens now?”
The waitress returned and distributed their rainbow of smoothies.
Julia lifted hers in a toast, and smiled for the first time since they’d arrived. “I’ll tell you what happens now. We all go on a shopping spree tomorrow afternoon. There’s an adorable new baby-slash-maternity-wear boutique I spotted in Oakhurst the last time I visited my son, right next to where I get my favorite dresses. I need something to cheer myself up.”
Chelsea’s eyes lit up over the straw in her mouth, and she hurried to swallow. “Yes, yes,yes! Nothing like a little retail therapy. I need a pick-me-up.”
A shadow settled on Madison’s face. “I should probably study.”
Naomie wasn’t fooled. “Study after. I have no idea what to get for your shower, so you need to come pick something out.” Pleased when relieved excitement crept over Madison’s face, Naomie turned to Chelsea. “You need a pick-me-up? Is everything okay?”
Another odd something flashed over Chelsea’s face, but she covered it with a grimace and a wave. “Just my back, all that. The only place I’m comfortable these days is in the pool.”
Naomie kept her skepticism hidden—a shopping trip would make the backache worse, not better. Should she push to find out what the real issue was? No—a text later would be more discreet.
“Good, that’s settled, then. One o’clock tomorrow at Maman et Bébé in Oakhurst.” Julia stood. “In the meantime, I have to visit the ladies’ room. Be right back.”
Naomie watched Julia wend her way toward the bathroom, trying to sort out what was happening. Everyone had warned her about ‘pregnancy brain,’ that she’d become forgetful, but nobody told her it would interfere with her ability to read people. Her normally spot-on instincts had turned oversensitive and indiscriminate. All her friends seemed off tonight—out of sorts and evasive. But they couldn’tallbe hiding something.
Could they?
* * *
Julia slid quickly into the bathroom stall and shot the bolt into place, grateful for the moment of silence. Everything was getting on her last nerve today, from Madison’s tardiness to Chelsea’s normally endearing chatter.
She winced at the wordtardiness.When had she turned into an elderly school marm? Between the moodiness and the gray hair she’d spotted that morning in her eyebrow, she’d think she was going through early menopause if she didn’t know better. But no, this was just the stress of everything hitting the fan, and it would pass as soon as she got a handle on things. But if she had to hear Chelsea chirp for one minute longer she’d drown the girl in her Caribbean Craze.
Julia pulled out her phones. Eight unread messages between them, some from Pete. She winced at the prospect of whatever he had to say—if only there were a filter that only sent through the messages you wanted to see, while stashing the others out of sight until you had the emotional bandwidth to deal with them. Until that day, she had no choice but to get on with it.
But she could soften it all by checking Rick’s first. She tapped the first chain of three.
Missing you, babe.
Then, twenty minutes later:
We need to celebrate.
And ten minutes after that:
Swing by tonight?
Temptation pulled at her. Rick was five years younger, with the energetic fitness of a cyclist and the Italian good looks of Raoul Bova. Nobody could sand off her rough edges better, and right now she needed to feel wanted. But it wasn’t safe.
Not tonight, love. Long day.
She picked up the other phone, then tapped on Pete’s messages. The first three had come in quick succession:
I just got off the phone with Simon.
This is fucking ridiculous.
Five thousand dollars last month?
Then, after a fifteen-minute delay:
I told you, this is NOT how this is going to go down.
