“So I was an amusing little charity case? The safety net I thought I’d built for my future—the ongoing monthly fees from managing the trusts that were supposed to keep me fiscally safe when you passed away—was all an illusion. You die and the cash cow dies with you, the probate court steps in, assigns their person to the Rainsford trust, and I’m left out in the cold. How you must have laughed at me. ‘Stupid little Vicki, how gullible she is—’ ”

“No. It wasn’t like that.”

“I’m done.” Her words hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut. “I quit.” Her face was pale and determined, her eyes red-rimmed, her nose, too, and he had never loved her more. “Get yourself some other sucker to gaslight. You and I are done. I will write myself a glowing reference letter using your letterhead and courier it to your office. You will sign and return it along with the contents of my desk, which you will box up and send to me.”

“Vicki—”

She held up her hand, palm out. “Don’t even, old man. Seriously, after everything you’ve put me through? It’s the least you can do.” Vicki didn’t wait for a response. She turned on her heel and strode away.

*   *   *

Phillip left the door of their hotel room unlocked, stayed up late pretending to read, but she didn’t return to their room. He tossed and turned all night, and in the morning, when the limo arrived with her inside, quiet and unresponsive, her face turned to the window, he knew what he needed to do. No more words. It was time for him to step up, be a man, or he would lose the only person he’d ever loved.

18

Sarah’s hand hovered over the boxed pies. Cherry or apple? Since rereading Amelia Bedelia, she’d gotten it in her head that perhaps Mick, like Mr. Rogers, would appreciate some pie. She picked up an apple one. It looked kind of tired. How long had it been sitting on the shelf? Her mind flashed to the delectable home-baked pies that Maggie whipped up daily for the customers of the Intrepid Café on Solace Island. On the heels of that sudden mouthwatering craving came an image of her last boss, Zelia Thompson, bustling into the gallery carrying Intrepid’s signature white pastry box wrapped in red string. “When I fall off the wagon, I do it with gusto!” Zelia had exclaimed. “I bought out the shop, so you better be hungry.” Her head had tipped back, infectious laughter bubbling out.

Sarah slapped the boxed pie down, and the next thing she knew, she was in the produce section stuffing apples into a bag. Why not? she thought with a shrug. How hard can pie be? And if I mess up, who cares? It’s the weekend. My time is my own.