“Not according to Arwen.” She looked at Kathy, who suddenly seemed a little pathetic with her cherry-red hair and painful high heels. “I think you underestimated her. Maybe she worked you a little bit, too.”

“You both went behind my back.”

“No, Kathy. If you can’t hold your own, don’t blame someone else. I gave Arwen my terms, and she accepted them. Clearly, she was in the position to make those decisions. Now. If your tantrum is over, I’d like you to stay with us. If it’s not, we’ll have to part ways.” And get a new partner, probably. Brett, maybe. Or Elena.

“I’ve already talked to Dave about coming back.”

“Then I wish you the best.” All those lunches together, all those conversations, watching each other’s kids grow up . . . it had meant something to Juliet. Quite a lot. But not to Kathy, apparently, because she just snorted and got into her car. Juliet watched as she sped down the street.

“I never really liked her,” Oliver said as she came back into the kitchen. He sensed her lingering sadness and put his arm around her.

“I never liked her, neither,” said Sloane.

“Me neither,” echoed Brianna. “She was always jealous of you, Mom.”

Out of the mouths of tweens came wisdom . . . sometimes, at least. Juliet smiled at her oldest, and, a little miraculously, Brianna smiled back.

“I think we should go out for ice cream tonight,” Juliet said, earning a cheer from both her girls.

Life was good. She and Oliver were better than ever, and that was saying something. The girls were wonderful, even if Brianna was still sulky and hormonal, and Sloane would probably go through that, too. Mom was going to have an easier life when Dad went to Rose Hill, and Dad . . . well, she hadn’t forgiven her father. Maybe she never would. Maybe some things shouldn’t be forgiven.

But being angry was too great a burden to carry, and Juliet felt it slip away, there in the warm sunshine of the May evening. She owned her own business. She and Arwen would find a new partner. She loved her husband and daughters, mother and sister. There would be grief and loss and conflict ahead, and she’d get through it all.

She was her mother’s girl, after all.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Sadie

Joy. That was the word my father had given me, pulled with such effort from the depths of his heart and mind. I knew it was his way of telling me I’d brought him joy, and yet, I’d been thinking it might have been more, too.

Maybe . . . maybe it was advice.