She takes a right behind a row of buildings and steps toward a clearing. There’s a bench and a few skateboarders and dog walkers. She sits and tips her face up to the sun. There’s so little time to process these days. Even though it’s summer and Savi hasn’t started her new school, Crystal’s been trying to get the house in order, set up enough jobs to cover their mortgage, foster her friendship with Bec, attend counseling with Dr. Gibbons, go to grief group, and deal with her demons … but it’s all so much. At the end of every day, she’s so exhausted, she can’t even think straight. She has too much to do at home, but she never wants to be there. Home reminds her of Paul. Home reminds her of …

She slaps her thighs and stands, picking up the pace as she loops around the park. A few cyclists shout “on your left,” and she hugs the corner of the path. Why did she pick Rebecca to be her friend? Most people would say grief, but she wonders if it’s because Bec can’t really see who she is.

Crystal can hide and Bec will accept her anyway. She pumps her fists and grinds her teeth, a terrible habit that’s given her TMJ. She makes a few more loops and then checks the time. It’s already been forty-five minutes. She hustles back to the car, blasts the air-conditioning, and drives to Rebecca’s house, which is a lovely—if not quaint—midcentury two-story home. She parks, gathers her supplies, and makes mental additions to her design plans to bring in a landscaper and slap on a fresh coat of paint to the shutters. She’ll throw it in for free.

On the way in, she still can’t shake the conversation in group today. The emotional wound she pulled from the bunch was betrayal. She’d almost choked on the word: betrayal.

She knows a little something about that. Luckily, no one else does.

She’s determined to keep it that way.

5

CRYSTAL

“Knock, knock.” Crystal eases open the door. “Bec? It’s me.”

“Come in.” Bec appears around the corner in her bathrobe, hair in a messy bun. She’s already changed out of her “real” clothes and replaced them with pajamas, even though it’s midday. “More coffee?” She raises an oversized white mug that says I BLEED COFFEE.

“You know me so well.” Crystal shuts the door and wipes her shoes on the mat. She absorbs the open foyer that spills into the rest of the house, making mental calculations of their design plans. The finished product forms in her mind—a beautiful, midcentury-modern masterpiece with muted colors and spectacular art—and she walks to the outdated kitchen.