“I’m not good enough to—” I cut myself off because the list of what I was failing at felt so long I didn’t know where to begin.

But Cricket smiled, one of a coconspirator, and leaned close. “You’re not qualified to do everything. There’s a difference. I’m not qualified to change the oil in my car—or, I should say, the car I used to own—but that doesn’t mean I’m no good as a human being. It just means I needed to hire a certified mechanic.”

“I wouldn’t know how to change oil, either,” I said, unconvinced by her words. “And Grandduff owned car dealerships.”

“Yes, and you helped me write the jingle! Remember? If you’re talkin’ about savin’, you’re talkin’ ’bout gettin’...” she prompted me.

“Rich...” I sang, obliging but unenthused.

She belted out the grand finale, still able to hit the high note after all these years: “...ardson’s!”

I clapped limply and Cricket patted me on the back. “No oil,” she said, “but she can write a dynamite hook, ladies and gentlemen.”

“I should put that on my résumé,” I said, resting my head on her shoulder. “Maybe it’s time I update it.”

“Nonsense,” said Cricket. “Miles won’t even make it a week before he begs you to come back. Mark my words. In the meantime, enjoy your time off. You’ve barely had a break in months. Even when you took the time in January, you were still working to get us on our feet. Take it one day at a time. One thing at a time, even.”

I breathed deeply. Two weeks. It was manageable. I could do this. “One thing at a time,” I said to Cricket, picking myself up from the couch, giving myself a mental brush off. “Starting with your broken mouse.”

“And then a nap.”

The mouse was not so much broken as unplugged from the monitor. Although it took me all of ten seconds of labor, Cricket was pleased.

She had nothing else for me to do. No documents to review, calls to make, ice maker to fix, nothing. Believe me when I say I asked. I considered for a minute organizing Wallis’s jammed closet, but I decided against it. Knowing Wallis, within the mess there would be a system, and I would just disrupt it. I was on my way out the door when Cricket summoned me to her bedroom, where she still had a few unpacked boxes stacked in a corner.

“The last of them,” she said, ripping off the packing tape. “Your and Wallis’s stuff from P, I think. Once you go through them, I’ll be able to move my computer desk to that corner. Maybe I’ll get one of those chairs that’s really an exercise ball. Work on my abs.”

“I knew you were thinking about boys,” I said, smirking.