She’d thought she’d put it behind her, but the shock of thinking it was Joanna in that accident had ripped away the shield she’d built and now she realized the hurt was still there, raw and real.

She told herself it was because Joanna had punched a hole in her brother’s heart and of course that was going to make her angry and defensive, but it was more than that.

Right at the start when it first happened Mel had swallowed her pride and tried contacting her, but Joanna had ghosted her. Joanna, who she’d loved like a sister. They’d learned to swim together, worn each other’s clothes, pierced each other’s ears using a needle from her mother’s sewing box (the blood!), shared everything from makeup to chocolate. They’d been inseparable, until Joanna had chosen to separate them. She’d left Silver Point without a backward glance, and she’d left Mel and their friendship, too.

Nate had refused to discuss it. He’d drowned his sorrows with Greg, leaving Mel to stew and simmer on her own.

The next time she saw Joanna had been in the press. After the first affair, Mel had seen pictures of her looking haggard and awful, hand over her face as she tried to avoid the media. It had only been a few years at that point, maybe less, and Mel had picked up the phone and called her even though doing so made her feel disloyal to Nate. Joanna had changed her number.

Mel had thought, At least I tried, and given up. And too much time had passed for her to rethink that decision.

Even if Mel had found a way to reach out past the hurt and awkwardness, and Joanna took her call, what would they talk about? What did they have in common? Mel was small town and Joanna was big city. Mel spent her time working in the café, hanging out with her family and the people she’d grown up with, eating barbecue and walking on the beach. Joanna went to opening nights, award ceremonies and walked on red carpets.

“I’m sure she has plenty of people who can help her.” She’d seen the evidence. Photographs of Joanna Whitman shopping with girlfriends, Joanna Whitman playing tennis, Joanna Whitman at the theater. It had fascinated her, seeing Joanna looking styled and groomed because growing up that had never been her priority, although that could have been because nature had already been generous. Thick eyelashes, green eyes and hair the color of fall foliage had been a striking combination, although Joanna hadn’t seemed to care. Mel remembered her doing cartwheels on the beach, sand dusting the ends of her hair and her bare legs. Her looks were part of her, along with her generous nature and her inability to cook anything without burning it to a crisp.