“Thanks. Is it okay if I call you and tell you about it?”

“You can call me any time, Greta. Any time.” Carys looked down and fiddled with the blanket. “You’re…you’re coming back, right?”

Greta had spent weeks seeing Carys as mature and unflappable. She’d known, of course, that no one was confident all the time, but even seeing Carys’ response to her mother hadn’t shaken her vision. That one sentence, though, reminded her that Carys was scared and insecure like anyone. That she’d lost people and been hurt and had desires that she must fear not being fulfilled.

Greta was glad to see it. Glad to be able to offer something to Carys.

She cupped Carys’ beautiful face in her hands and looked directly into her whiskey-brown eyes.

“You bet your sweet ass I’m coming back.”

Carys closed her eyes and nodded, then kissed her so sweetly Greta almost couldn’t pull away.

Chapter 26

Greta

“Dude, you’re saving my life right now.”

“You know it, kid,” Ramona yelled over the music.

Greta had found a flight leaving that afternoon and booked it after nearly an hour of being put on hold, told her free flight wasn’t available yet, and being transferred ten times. When she’d texted Ramona to see if she could borrow her car, Ramona had offered to drive her herself.

Now they were cruising away from Ramona’s house with Garden Gate’s new album blasting.

They drove past the Lafayette No. 1 cemetery, and Greta felt herself flush at the memory of her encounter with Carys, and past Camilla’s house, where she’d spent a lovely morning with the Garden Gang. At a stop sign, Greta thought she recognized a house.

“Wait, hold on, is that…” She checked her text thread with Truman, looking for the picture he’d sent weeks ago. “Ramona. That’s Truman’s shitty ex’s house, right?”

“Yup. Bastard.”

Greta thought of Truman—sweet Truman whose biggest regret about Guy had been that he hadn’t exposed his cheating to Guy’s partner. Truman, who had told her that he wished she’d go kick Guy’s ass since he couldn’t do it. She burned with an audacious desire for justice.

“Hang on. I gotta do something.” Greta unbuckled her seat belt.

“What are you… Gasp! Greta Russakoff, you are not.”

Greta raised an eyebrow. “Watch me.”

“Omigod, yesssss!”

Greta stalked up the sidewalk to the house on the corner, primly decorated with white lights and a tasteful fir wreath on the front door. She felt like she was made of lightning, like at any moment she’d be blasted off the ground with the sheer energy of her conviction.

The doorbell chimed an echoey tune, and she heard footsteps.

“Oh shit, oh shit, ohshit,” she muttered under her breath. It took every ounce of strength to plant her feet and not run back to Ramona’s car.