She had seen it in the grocery store just yesterday, her sister’s latest hardcover release, A Perfect Life, filling the endcaps in the checkout line. She hadn’t touched it. She had willfully ignored it, and she certainly hadn’t bought it—but here it was, following her, haunting her, reminding her that complete strangers continued to finance and support Clare’s art.

“Do you think we can wrap this up soon?” the dad asked, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Yes,” Eileen agreed. “We’ve lost the light,” she said, despite the fact that they had never had the light to begin with. “In fact…I probably already have something I can use.”

Every single one of them looked relieved. Even the middle boy finally smiled, and Eileen, quick with the camera, snapped his picture several times before he could remember to be miserable again.

From the depths of her tote bag, her phone rang. The shrill, old-fashioned ringtone made her put her camera down and race to begin the frantic dig. Her tote was too big, filled with too much crap, and the phone was never, ever in the convenient phone-sized side pocket. By the time she managed to get her hands on it, the ringing had stopped—as usual—and she was left staring at a surprising notification.

Missed call, Simon Reamer

Why was Clare’s husband calling her? When was the last time she had even spoken with him?

Christmas—three years ago? They had invited Eileen, Eric, and the kids to spend Christmas with them, in their huge cliffside mansion, and against Eileen’s better judgment, they had gone. That was the last time Eileen had spoken with Simon Reamer, thanking him for having them and saying goodbye at the grand entrance to his and Clare’s ridiculous house.

Eileen racked her brains. Clare’s birthday was tomorrow, her fortieth. Given that Simon had rented out a ballroom at one of the most expensive hotels in San Francisco to celebrate Clare’s thirty-fifth birthday with five hundred of her closest admirers, and fans, it wasn’t hard to believe that he would be conspiring something completely over the top for her fortieth. Except, her birthday was tomorrow. If Simon were planning something, wouldn’t she have received the ornate invitation by mail months ago? It wasn’t like Simon to try to get away with a last-minute phone-call invite.

“So,” the father interrupted her thinking. “We’re good? What happens next?”

“Um…” Eileen tore her eyes away from the phone and stopped the thoughts that were forming about her mother and her deteriorating health in their tracks. “So I’ll go through everything we were able to get today and send a selection of proofs for you to review. Once you’ve made some choices, I’ll put the order together for you.”

“Sounds good,” the dad said.