“You better,” Sylvia said. “I asked April to make sure we’re all at one table.”

“Is April bringing anyone?” Chloe asked, holding one last glass up to the light to make sure it was spotless.

“Not that I know of,” Sylvia answered. “She claims she’ll be too busy working to even sit down anyway.”

“That girl needs time off.” Chloe came out from behind the counter and headed for the employee room to grab her stuff. “She has no life.”

“I heard she’s interviewing someone after the holidays,” Sylvia said, picking up her coat from the back of a counter stool.

“I heard that too,” I said, taking the coat from her and holding it up so she could slip her arms in the sleeves. “It’s a friend of the owners at Abelard.”

Chloe came out of the break room, zipping her jacket, then slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Yes. Her name is Coco, and I’ve met her before. She’s perfect for the job. Let’s hope April realizes it.” When she looked up at us, she stopped short, as if surprised.

I took my hands off Sylvia’s coat.

“You sure you don’t want to come to Mom and Dad’s for dinner?” Sylvia asked, freeing her hair from her collar. “I convinced Henry to join us. And April’s coming over too.”

“Um, yeah. I’m sure. Oliver says he has dinner for us at home.” She was still looking at us a little strangely as she moved toward the door and switched off all the lights. “But I’ll see you guys in the morning. Have a good night.”

We went outside, and I locked the doors as Chloe trudged through the snowy parking lot toward her car. After making sure it started, Sylvia and I continued walking toward the house. Flurries fell slowly around us, and the night air was cold and silent.

“Did you have a chance to talk to Whitney yet?” I asked.

“No. I’m totally avoiding it.” She sighed, sticking her hands in her pockets. “I’m so bad. But I feel like as long as she’s spending time with the family and enjoying herself, that’s healthy, right? She had a smile on her face today—without the heavy makeup.”

“Sounds healthy to me.”

“Frannie gave me the name of a therapist Mack’s girls went to after their mom left. The office was closed by the time I called this afternoon, but I left a message, so hopefully she gets back to me fast.” She dragged her boots through the snow. “But still, I know I need to address the Instagram thing. Maybe I can do it later tonight.”

We went in the back door to the house, and as soon as we stepped into the mudroom off the kitchen, my mouth watered. “Wow, something smells good,” I said, shrugging off my jacket.

“Thanks. Hope you like Italian.”