“Yes, that all makes perfect sense. Because Evan was such a steady part of your life. That twenty-seven-year-old man-child sure was reliable. He wasn’t flighty or forgetful. He knew exactly what he wanted out of life. He didn’t make you pay for shit all the time. And he sure was good at remembering your birthday.”

Via laughed at the list, even though it hurt a little bit to hear it, and then rolled to face her friend. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Fin.”

“Via, when you’re this gorgeous, everything suits you.”

They both laughed then, and it was loud and unladylike and deeply cathartic. Via took the crystal off her chest and handed it to her friend. “I’m nuts, Fin. Don’t mind me. I’m just coming loose at all the edges.” Via put a hand over her eyes and then propped her feet up on the railing with a deep breath. “All the edges I thought I’d already tucked in.”

“Yes, well, c’est la vie.” That’s life. “It has a way of untucking the blanket.”

They sat in silence for a minute, Fin studying the muddying blue of the night sky and Via studying Fin. “Everything all right? You seem tense, Finny.”

Fin looked affronted, like the idea of tension offended her. She sniffed, her dark eyes flashing obsidian in the dark. “I am not tense.”

Via swallowed her smile. Serafine St. Romain might have been mysterious and hard to read for many people. But Via wasn’t one of them “You sure are.”

Fin let out a long breath. The murky sky reflected in her big, light eyes. When she spoke, it was the flatness in her tone that immediately told Via just how hurt she really was. “My application got rejected again.”

“No!” Via immediately reached out and squeezed Fin’s hand.

“I don’t know what to do. Maybe get an office job?”

“Fin, no. You’d wither away in a corporate atmosphere.”

“But they keep saying that they don’t take applicants who make their money in cash. I guess they’ve been burned too many times by hustlers who are trying to make some extra money by taking in a foster kid.” Fin laughed humorlessly. “Can’t make enough money slinging on a street corner? Take in a stray child! The state pays your grocery bill.”

“If that,” Via muttered, remembering all the ways Jetty had had to make ends meet to raise two children at once. Via made a rare noise of frustration. “It’s just so backward. You’re the exact type of person they want fostering kids. You’re responsible and kind and intelligent and compassionate. Just because you tell fortunes for a living, they reject your application. Meanwhile, they’re just gonna keep on siphoning kids into overcrowded homes with overworked foster parents.”

“They don’t trust me. I go in for the interview with all this hair and all this jewelry and my spooky accent and they think, She must be on drugs.”

Except for this last time. It had been heartbreaking. Via had come over and dressed Fin in the most sedate outfit she had. Slacks and a blazer. She’d braided her wild hair back and limited her to three pieces of jewelry. And still, somehow, application rejected.