Back When We Were Young
Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Joey
  6. Joey
  7. Joey
  8. Sarah
  9. Sarah
  10. Joey
  11. Joey
  12. Joey
  13. Joey
  14. Sarah
  15. Joey
  16. Joey
  17. Sarah
  18. Joey
  19. Joey
  20. Joey
  21. Joey
  22. Joey
  23. Sarah
  24. Joey
  25. Joey
  26. Joey
  27. Joey
  28. Joey
  29. Joey
  30. Joey
  31. Sarah
  32. Sarah
  33. Joey
  34. Joey
  35. Joey
  36. Joey
  37. Sarah
  38. Sarah
  39. Joey
  40. Joey
  41. Joey
  42. Sarah
  43. Joey
  44. Joey
  45. Chapter Forty-One
  46. Joey
  47. Sarah
  48. Joey
  49. Joey
  50. Joey
  51. Joey
  52. Reading Group Guide
  53. Letter to Readers
  54. Discussion Questions
  55. Historical Note
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. Discover More
  58. About the Author

“So coming to Florida is killing two birds with one stone?” Joey left his arm dangling and hopped up on her own.

Leo squinted as the sun took its aim. “I guess. Leave your shoes and come on up.” She followed him around the Jet Skis docked in the back and then up a couple of stairs. Leo went to the captain’s wheel.

Joey sank down to a couch, stretched out her legs, and pointed her toes. The couch was covered in the softest cream leather and flanked by a table. “Wow, Leo. You’ve made it, huh? What you always dreamed of.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’ve made it, Jonesey. I have investors. It’s not just me in this game.”

“Funding aside, you’re buying a huge, luxurious yacht. I think if you look up making it in the dictionary, this would be it.”

“Actually, I already have one yacht. That one’s in Europe with my crew. So this will be my second.”

“Wow.” She digested it. “I’m really proud of you, Leo.” She meant it so thoroughly that she felt sad Leo couldn’t experience the soar in her chest, like it was happening to her, the fruition of his long-held dreams. “I really am.”

“Thanks.” In a minute’s span, Leo had pulled levers, twisted knobs, and checked the satnav. Now he crouched on the floor, unsnapping covers adhered to the boat’s sides.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“Sure.” He handed her a cover. “Fold this and stick it in the salon.”

Joey took care folding it and carried it into the serene, well-appointed space he’d motioned to. The salon. She could imagine celebrities in it, tech moguls, nibbling on olives and drinking from fizzy flutes, talking and complaining about nothing.

The carpet was tan, fresh, and luxurious. In her lawyer life, she’d glided atop carpet like this. Thick carpet cleaned each night by a troop of underpaid fairies. Perhaps the part she’d detested most about her old life was the way her peers had ignored the help. The men and women tasked with grunt jobs would enter offices to empty trash, to deliver mail, and would exit as ghosts, as if garbage cans refreshed themselves, as if mail flew in on the backs of storks.