She shrugged. “A week?”

“So long?” Meg asked.

“I’m only in the way here.”

“No, you’re not,” Meg said.

Amy snipped. “Momma doesn’t need me. And I need to get away for a while. I’ll come back when she’s out of rehab.”

“Can they spare you at work that long?”

“Nobody is there over the holidays. And since I basically work for free . . . Anyway, I told Monsieur I’d visit the Garment District. I want to see the Fashion Institute. And Mood!”

I resisted the urge to point out that she could have seen all those things if she’d come to visit me at any time over the past few years. “Where are you staying?”

Amy busied herself with the scissors. “With the band.”

Meg and I exchanged glances.

“At their hotel?” Meg asked.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Amy said. “Vaughn and I are friends.”

If anyone could get her friends to spring for a week in New York at the height of the holidays, it would be Amy. But still . . .

Meg bit her lip. “Maybe . . .”

“You could use my place,” I offered. “It’s not much, but it’s empty. And the location is great.”

“Really?” Amy hugged me, nearly jabbing me with the scissors. “Oh, that would be so awesome!” She hugged Meg. “You are the best sister.”

“Hey, it’s my apartment,” I said.

Amy beamed. “You’re the best sister, too.”

And I was, I thought on Friday as I knuckled my mother’s truck through traffic. I really was.

The departure lane at the airport was clogged with people leaving town for New Year’s Eve. Or maybe going home after the holidays—back to work, back to school, back to bases across the country. The curb in front of the terminal teemed with soldiers with duffel bags, students with backpacks, gray-haired seniors in wheelchairs.

I found a spot behind a black SUV and parked. Amy pulled her suitcase from the backseat.

“Got the key?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Text me when you get there.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you in a week.”

“I might stay a little longer.”

I sighed. “Just don’t be stupid, okay?”

She smiled crookedly. “I love you, too.”

She kissed me on both cheeks—very French—and strode away through the sliding doors, her boots tap-tapping on the sidewalk. The walkway teemed with suitcases and families saying good-bye. A woman in camouflage hugged a toddler tight, her cheek to the child’s hair. A mother reached up to hold her son. In the space ahead of me, the SUV’s doors swung open, and Eric got out.

My heart lurched.

He saw me, and the pleasure on his face slashed me like a razor. “Jo! You are on my flight? To New York?”

“Uh . . . No.” Disappointment made me dumb. “I’m here to drop off my sister.” I waved vaguely toward the terminal. “Amy.”

“Ah.” He turned to the two lanky teenagers standing by the curb. “My sons. This is Miss March.”