She sighed. Glanced down the hallway and came in, shutting the door behind her. “There’s this woman at work. She’s great. Very talented. I hired her, and I have nothing but good things to say about her, but . . .” She stopped. “Don’t tell Oliver. Or Mom. Do not tell Mom.”

“Okay.” Wow. I didn’t know that Jules and I had ever had a secret, especially one we kept from our mother. “So what about her?”

“She’s been . . . anointed. I don’t know how or why, but suddenly, I seem to be yesterday’s news.”

I started to answer, then stopped. This was the closest Perfection from Conception had ever come to asking for advice or sharing anything except perfect nuggets from her perfect life. My answer had to be good.

“I can’t imagine that someone with your talent and work ethic, with all the beautiful buildings you’ve designed, could ever be yesterday’s news.” I paused, curling my toes, and pulled out one of my best lines for my little students when they confided in me. “But that must be very hard.”

Jules looked at me a second, and I wondered if maybe I blew it. Then she gave me a fast, hard hug, and left. “Sleep well,” she said.

Then she was back. “And thanks for being so great with Brianna. She worships you.”

She was gone again.

Well, well, well. “Pepper,” I said to my dog, who was already asleep in the middle of my bed, “I think I’ve just had a bonding moment with my sister.”

I got into bed, content with the world. Noah . . . well, we were friends again, at least. Dad was getting better. Juliet had said something nice to me. I loved my nieces.

And I had a very good dog.

If Sister Mary could’ve heard my thoughts, she would’ve said, “Count your blessings before the shit hits the fan.”

A wise woman, that.

— —

By the time I got back to my house the next day, Noah had been there and left, and there was a new and very sturdy-looking beam where the wall had once been. Safe to go upstairs said the note taped to it. I’ll be back later. Clean up the rubble in the meantime.

So bossy. But it gave me a warm feeling, knowing Noah had been here. I’d have to sell a few more couch paintings to afford paying him. Maybe more than a few. Maybe I’d have to take out a bank loan.

Whatever it cost, I didn’t care.

Alexander texted me, asking if I could come to the city tonight for dinner and stay over. I was just about to turn him down, since I had homeownery things to do, when a car pulled into my little driveway. An Audi.

It was Gillian Epstein of Epstein Events.