Just then Sandra appears. “Excuse me, Mrs. Austin, your blue rose bushes have arrived.”

“Oh my goodness, my babies are here? How I’ve been waiting to plant these beauties!” Debbie proclaims with the excitement of finding out she won the lottery.

“Go on,” I say, giving her permission to clock out of this conversation. “Get to it.”

“How do you feel now? Any better?”

“I mean, it’s a lot to process. And I’m still not sold on Gemma’s motives, but I’ll get there.”

“I know. And I agree. You will get there. Just remember, if it’s any consolation, Gemma never came straight to us with this. She went to Brian. Right in the middle of med school, too. Now, I know the Jackson family very well. They paid for Brian’s education, even after he switched majors. But his mother was adamant over lunch at Villa Blanca one day that there were no more handouts to be given. So you’ve got to think: this couldn’t have ever been about money. She wouldn’t have gone to Brian if all she wanted was a payday. One look at his Facebook page and you could see he was little more than a broke med-school student. It would have been a dead end for her.”

My heart nearly stops. Brian knew first. That hurts.

But what’s even more painful is that Brian wasn’t actually the dead end for money Debbie thinks he was. He just needed to be in the right place at the right time to score: my house in Highland Park on the night he was helping me pack up.

Chapter 23

Last night I kept to myself. And I truly mean myself. See, it was the first urn-free night I’ve had with the knowledge it wasn’t coming back to my apartment—ever. I was worried I’d feel a void or some sort of seller’s regret after leaving him with Debbie, but I’m all good. I feel confident that Decker’s final resting place is final this time because, frankly, Debbie isn’t moving now that she’s planted those blue roses, right?

“All good,” unfortunately, is not how I feel about any of the other relationships in my life right now. Casey didn’t come home again last night and Brian was speed-dialing me so much I had to shut my phone off. I had nothing to say, text or otherwise, to a person who’s made a five-year hobby out of deceiving me.

I’m standing in the lobby of my building after a walk with Leno, scrolling through Instagram as I wait for the elevator. One ill-timed movement of my thumb, and I accidentally pick up Brian’s first incoming call since powering my phone back on.

“Charlotte, hi. I’ve been trying to reach you,” he says. He sounds exhausted and frazzled.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you answer any of my messages?”

“No. I mean, I know. As in...everything. Gemma, Aiden, you, Debbie, the money.”

“Look, we need to talk,” he pleads. “This isn’t a phone conversation, okay? Can I just come over tonight?”