Jack had dated Brit, but I believed he really wanted Marisa. He’d gone out of his way to give Marisa work after rehab, helped her stay sober, even bought her damn apartment building. I’d once asked about her, but he’d just laughed and reminded me he’d picked me.

That victory had been thrilling at first, but I wasn’t so sure who’d really won. Jack had secrets, which hadn’t bothered me when it was just us. The pregnancy scare had shifted everything. I might not be pregnant now, but I soon could be. “No, it doesn’t matter.”

31 MARISA

31

MARISA

Thursday, March 17, 2022

3:20 p.m.

I arrived at the coffee shop five minutes late and wasn’t surprised to see that I’d beaten Jo-Jo. The woman never met a schedule she could keep. I glanced at my phone. There was another text from Paul. I wasn’t feeling diplomatic and deleted the message. Sooner or later, he’d get the hint.

I ordered a cappuccino and was sipping mine when Jo-Jo rushed in fifteen minutes later. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze flighty. She’d the look of a woman who’d just had great sex. I sipped my drink, hoping to hide my smile and envy. Not for Jack, but for an ideal of love and marriage I wasn’t sure existed.

Jo-Jo sat quickly in the chair across from me. “Am I that late?”

“Twenty minutes. Basically, right on time.”

“Better late than never.” She smiled, didn’t seem to care about the time, as if it were already forgotten. Had to give Brit credit. The Scarecrow hat had been on point.

“You look relaxed. How’s Jack?”

A slight hesitation and then a grin. “He’s fine. But you didn’t ask me here to talk about Jack.”

“Can’t friends just visit?” Foamed milk swarmed around my mug’s interior.

“They can, but we rarely do. We haven’t really spoken in years, and now we’re becoming a regular thing.”

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“I’ll grab it.” She fished a wallet from her purse and dashed to the counter. Back in less than a minute with a steaming latte in her hand, she moved very quickly when she put her mind to it.

I waited until she had her first sip. “Richards.”

Jo-Jo made a face. “He must be a thousand years old now.”

“Sixty-five. Ready to retire. I saw him on Tuesday.”

She brushed back a brown curl off her forehead. “And?”

“Tell me about the night you last saw Clare?”

Jo-Jo’s face paled a fraction as she grimaced. “Why would you want to bring that up? Christ, I don’t want to go there today.”

“I don’t wake up ready to revisit my sister’s death. It sucks for me. But not talking about it doesn’t solve anything.”