“ ‘There’s always money in the banana stand,’ ” I say using air quotes back at him.

We both laugh.

Then Lucky says, “Really. You don’t have to.”

“But I do,” I say, looking him straight in the eye so that he understands. He may have pride, but so do I. And I can’t let him do this for me. “I’m losing sleep. I’m not a good liar, as you keep pointing out, and I’m terrible at keeping secrets. It’s literally making me sick.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“We used to be friends,” I add. “I’m assuming that’s why you took the fall for me. So if you care anything at all for me, then let me help pay it off. For old time’s sake.”

He stares at me, watchful eyes slowly blinking as his fingers lightly trace the bottom of his empty coffee cup. My pulse speeds wildly, and for a moment, and I’m not sure if I can hold his intense gaze. A wary part of me wants to look away, as if he’s some sort of dark sorcerer, casting a wicked spell on me with the power of his mind.

My phone buzzes against my hip, breaking the spell. I dig it out of my pocket. It’s Evie.

“Hey,” I say, grateful for the distraction. “What’s up?”

“Aunt Winona isn’t answering,” she says, frazzled. “I need you to come get me.”

“What’s happened?”

“I’m at the hospital. I’ve been in a wreck.”

Chapter 8

MEMORIAL COUNTY HEALTH CENTER: An ultra-boring white-and-blue sign is situated near the entrance of the main rural hospital in Beauty County, Rhode Island. The cookie-cutter building looks like every other new American hospital. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

Chapter 8

Panic spreads through my chest. Without thinking, I stand up before pulling out my chair and painfully bump my thighs on the underside of the coffeehouse café table. “Evie?” I say, massaging my leg. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” she insists. “Just scraped up. Nothing broken.”

She’s okay! Oh, thank God. “Wait … You wrecked the Pink Panther?”

“No. Aunt Winona took it when we closed the shop. No idea where. She said she had to run some errand this afternoon. Can you try to call her? Maybe she’ll answer you. If not, can you call a car to take you here and pick me up? I’m at Memorial, the hospital north of town? I don’t want to be here anymore, cuz. Please. You know I hate hospitals, and the nurse keeps asking when my mom is coming to pick me up, and I already told them she’s in Nepal, and I just … I want to go home.” She sounds as if she’s on the verge of tears.

“Stay there. I’ll come get you one way or another, fast as I can,” I assure her, hanging up.

“What is it?” Lucky says.