“It’s okay, it’s okay,” crooned Carol Anne, lost for a smart-ass comment for the first time since Amy had known her.

“No, it’s not okay.” Amy bent, heaved again, and this time ruined her silver silk dress. “It’s not okay at all.”

After Carol Anne tucked Amy into bed, ushered out the remaining guests and brought Amy a cup of hot lemon tea, she kissed her friend on the cheek and whispered while Phil cleaned up the parlor. “Call me in the morning. Where did you put those notes? Give them to me.”

“They’re safe. Hidden. I haven’t even read them all yet.”

“Just go to sleep, Amy. Get some sleep. It’ll all seem so . . . stupid in the morning.”

“I will. Thanks for taking care of me. Do you think anyone noticed I never came back to the party?”

“Anyone who’s here this late—it’s one thirty in the morning—wouldn’t notice if you were swinging from the chandelier.”

“Is Phil okay?”

“Of course he is. Cleaning up, humming to himself, locking up. But Joe is waiting for me. Gotta run. We missed his office party. He’s a little peeved. I’m having a hard time explaining why. Guess I’ll have to make up for it when I get home, you know?” Carol Anne winked and pulled the covers up to Amy’s chin. “Let it go, Ame.”

Amy closed her eyes and nodded. She desperately wanted to be alone and she only had a few minutes before Phil would come into the room and fuss over her. He was still mad about Revvy and Mr. Stevenson and she was not up for a discussion about it.

“G’night.” Carol Anne closed the bedroom door.

Amy lay motionless and held her breath until the front door scraped shut. She sat up. There was no way she’d be able to sleep until she read the notes . . . the unsent pleas for her to come . . . to him. She would read them, then destroy them and move on. Enough was enough. She could not allow Nick to come into her home and toss her emotions around like a dog with a rag toy. Didn’t he know this was her house? Her party? Her family? Didn’t he have at least that much respect?

She tiptoed into the bathroom and listened for Phil’s telltale footsteps on the warped pine floors. She locked the door, unsure if the lock even worked, as she’d never once, since the day they moved in, locked the bathroom. She pulled on the door; it was locked.

Her silver dress lay crumpled on the tile floor. She sighed; Phil would have a heart attack if he knew how much the dress had cost—the dress she’d just ruined by puking crab puffs and champagne all over it.