“Not every minute, God,” Lindy said.

Jillian thought about it. “Yes you were.”

“Oh my God! I was just trying to be nice! If you don’t want it, throw it out!”

Jillian stepped off the escalator in silence, looking out for the mall guards who were going to arrest them both for shoplifting. Jillian had used the perfume, and it was in her bag. Wasn’t that nearly as bad as stealing it herself? She was sweating under her coat.

Jillian Miller is not sixteen.

Jillian Miller is a shoplifter.

Jillian Miller is not as good friends with Mark Strauss as she pretends to be.

Kaye, in line at Starbucks, waved to them. “Coffee before we go, girls?”

“Yeah!” Lindy said.

Coffee, too, was off limits until she was older.

“Jillian?” Kaye called. “Frappuccino? Peppermint Mocha?”

Jillian stood frozen at the precipice; then Lindy came along and gave her a push.

NICK REGRETTED NOT GRABBING A WARMER COAT THE MINUTE REX pulled him out the door into the yard. He might have turned around and gone back, but Rex was raring to go, tail up, full speed ahead—and really, was there anything more beautiful than a dog who was finally, finally being given his walk? He couldn’t deny him his moment, not for another moment. The afternoon dog walk had become a regular gig for Nick these past weeks, ever since the financially imposed hiatus on work on the White Elephant. When had he started calling it that? It seemed like a bad sign.

He walked down Tunlaw, past the old houses he still imagined into gold, and over to the green. He’d walk Rex around, maybe let him run leash-less—a forbidden and punishable offense—then go over to the elementary school to pick up Jakey. Jakey would be glad to see him—or maybe he wouldn’t. He usually just said, “Where’s Mommy?” and pulled out his phone so he could play games as they walked home. So much for bonding time; he was basically just there to make sure his son didn’t walk into cars.

He stuck the hand not holding the leash in his pocket. A hot drink. That was what he needed, he thought, spying Lucy’s. Kaye swore by it, but to him a café in an old house was on the bed-and-breakfast spectrum: more folksy and intimate than he wanted from a business transaction; he’d choose Starbucks and a Westin any day. Still, a cold day was a cold day, and it was the only place to eat in town.