I pushed open the side door that locked the old folks in and walked through as I looked down at my phone.

I stopped dead, hearing the door click behind me.

Feverishly, I swept my finger over the screen to read the whole text.

Got the garage opener, Auden had texted. Like your note said, I’ll park in the garage. Thought you should know I got it.

That was it.

No, later.

No, bye, Mom.

No, love you.

I didn’t care. I’d take it.

Smiling huge, I started walking again just as I heard shrieked, “Nazi!”

I looked to my right to see Mrs. McMurphy sitting in the lounge glowering at me, her hand a fist above her head and lifting, her tongue lolling out, doing a signal of death by hanging.

“Good morning, Mrs. McMurphy,” I called.

She jabbed a finger at me. “Got my eye on you.”

I kept smiling but I walked away and started giggling.

Because Mrs. McMurphy might think I’m a Nazi.

But still, I was happy.

* * * * *

I was in my bedroom, packing an overnight bag, doing this attempting not to expire from death by paint fumes, when my phone rang.

I feared it was Alyssa, who’d shared she’d had a very good date night with her husband that began and ended in a motel room with a bottle of bourbon and another of chocolate sauce, thus she wanted to do it again.

Soon.

However, I’d spent that time with her kids, who were awesome, but they were rowdy and they’d done me in.

I wanted to be a good friend. I liked being around her kids. But I needed to ration that or her kids might kill me.

I saw the unknown number on my screen, but it was a number that was local and vaguely familiar, so I took the call, now hoping it was not the painters telling me the project of painting Cliff Blue would take two weeks rather than one.

They’d done my bedroom that day, painting the walls a beautiful dove gray with an elegant blue accent wall. This was why I was packing. I couldn’t sleep in there, I didn’t want to sleep in my kids’ rooms and the guest bedroom was a wreck because the painters were moving on to that the next day. The living room had been painted the day before and still smelled, therefore the couch was also out.

So I was spending at least one night at Lavender House with the Spears.

I took the call and answered, “Hello.”

“Amy,” Mickey bit off.

I shot to straight at his tone and replied, “I thought we weren’t talking.”

“We aren’t. Problem with that shit is my kids don’t know we aren’t and Ash’s got some recipe she wants you to eat. She wants you over for dinner tomorrow night.”

Disaster.

A disaster that had to be avoided.