“Look,” she said, “there are four grown women under this roof. We are going to have major differences of opinion about how we parent our children, and I’m never going to tell you what to do with Iris because I get that we won’t always agree. But, for heaven’s sake, let the child sleep ten extra minutes in the morning. Let me make her lunch.” She smiled. “When you make a snack for yourself, you make one for someone else. It’s beach house rules.”

I couldn’t help but laugh—and realize that she was right. “Fine, Grace. Thank you. That’s a very nice offer.” Between games and homework and extracurriculars, Iris never got enough sleep. Every little bit helped.

Grace cocked her head and exhaled. “So, with that behind us, anything else you need to get off your chest before you go nail that interview?”

I sighed heavily and nodded. “Do you want to know the worst part?”

“Always.”

Grace put the car in park and turned to face me.

“A nice chunk of that ‘frozen’ money is mine, some I saved from working and then a nest egg my great-aunt left me when she died. I thought I was protected if the worst happened.”

Grace patted the dash of the Mercedes. “Nope. Joint property, baby.”

We both laughed, but I was worried I had offended her. “You birthed his children and raised them. You deserve the joint property. My money is just sitting there for a crime my husband didn’t even commit.”

“He’s innocent?” Grace asked, shock written all over her face.

“Don’t look so surprised! Yes. He was definitely framed. Now we just have to figure out how to get the prosecution to see that.”

“Whoa.” Grace put her hand up. “This is serious. We’re going to need to unify the mommune on this one.”

I laughed, because what were we going to do?

I pulled out my phone and texted Oliver, Any updates? Three dots appeared, and then, so quickly that I knew he must be voice-texting:

I’m doing everything I can, Char.

Everything he could was definitely not enough. I was down to four hundred dollars. Two weeks ago, I would have dropped that at Whole Foods without a second thought.

“Okay,” Grace said. “Deep breath.”

We both inhaled, and she locked her eyes on mine. “You are going to nail this interview. You are going to be the best…” She trailed off. “What are you interviewing for?”

I sat up straighter, cleared my throat, and said authoritatively, “Customer care associate.”

“Uh-huh. So you deal with pissed-off customers?”

“I would say so. Yes.”

“Okay. Well, today you are going to be the best pissed-off customer handler they have ever seen there. You are going to wow them with your grace and poise, and you are going to come out of here gainfully employed.”