For All She Knows (Potomac Point #3) - Jamie Beck Page 0,12

ever ready for any situation. If you dumped out her purse or opened her hatchback at any time, you’d find first-aid supplies, extra jackets, shelf-stable snacks, and other assorted items.

“Nothing Grace said is new information. The board might even be insulted by the suggestion that they hadn’t already thought of it.”

My son didn’t look swayed. “Can we go now?”

“It’s almost over. Let’s wait so we don’t look rude.”

Rowan whipped out his phone. A few minutes later, the audience began to file out of the auditorium. In the lobby, we bumped into Sam and Grace. Under other circumstances I would’ve taken her out for dessert to celebrate her personal milestone. Now we all stood in an awkward huddle beneath the weight of curious glances as people passed us on their way out.

“Grace. Sam.” I gave them each a quick kiss hello before elbowing Rowan.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips.” He shook Sam’s hand.

“Rowan, it’s terrific to see you participating in politics,” Sam said. Per Grace’s encouragement, he’d tried to be there for Rowan that first year after Dirk split, but Rowan hadn’t been into it. It was almost as if he’d rejected Sam to prove his loyalty to Dirk, although no one—not even Dirk—had ever suggested that anyone wanted to replace Rowan’s father. At least I’d never said it aloud.

“Mom made me come,” Rowan replied.

“Well, that’s smart. If Carter wasn’t babysitting Kim, I might’ve made him come, too.” Sam winked, his hands now in his front pockets.

“Carter wouldn’t have come. He’s already worried my speaking up will cause him more trouble at school.” Grace sheepishly eyed me while she spoke, but I’d no doubt that her message was meant for Rowan.

She hadn’t directly accused him, but Grace had a way of making her feelings known without getting her hands dirty. We’d practically raised our kids together, so the insinuation stung. Then again, Rowan had already hinted at some bullying, so perhaps she wasn’t wrong.

“Boys talk tough, but Rowan would never do anything to Carter or anyone else, Grace,” I assured her, tucking my arm through my son’s.

“I know Rowan wouldn’t hurt Carter,” she covered, smiling at Rowan and then meeting my gaze. “It’s been a tense time for everyone.”

“Well, regardless, your speech was great. Even Rowan said so. Now it’s up to the powers that be,” I said, pretending not to care much about the outcome.

“Seems so,” Grace said, but something about her expression gave me pause. Like she knew something she wasn’t sharing. I hated this distance between us, yet I hadn’t been willing to back down or share strategies any more than she had. Hopefully when things were settled, we’d return to normal. “We should probably all get home. I’ll see you Friday morning.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I smiled and waved at Sam before tugging at Rowan, who didn’t need any coaxing to leave. When we got to the car, I said, “Rowan, listen up. It’s really important that you and the others don’t harass Carter or anyone else, especially if this thing goes against us.”

Rowan shrugged. “I can’t control everyone else.”

That was exactly what worried me.

We were nearly home when he finally spoke again. “Mom, since Dad blew me off, can I have some friends over Saturday night?”

Oh, the guilt trips my divorce caused on a weekly basis.

“Maybe a few friends, but I’m not up for a big group, okay?” I could manage a handful of boys and a six-pack with pizza, but that was my limit. Rowan didn’t respond, so I repeated myself. “I said okay?”

He barely glanced up from his phone. “Sure, Mom. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry. If only hearing those words actually made it so.

CHAPTER THREE

GRACE

Friday, January 8

Sugar Momma’s pastry shop, Potomac Point

At promptly eight thirty, I arrived at Sugar Momma’s. An old Stevie Nicks song rang out over the bustling, eclectic pastry shop’s speakers. The café’s cheery red, yellow, and turquoise decor induced a smile as usual, as did the buttery aroma of Hannah’s excellent pastries. When a quick scan of the room proved that Mimi hadn’t yet arrived, I made my way to the last open table.

This many years into our friendship, I’d accepted the fact that her internal clock ran at least five minutes behind. I draped my jacket and purse over the back of my chair before sitting. The tight ball of anxiety from my morning conversation with Carter as he bolted outside to catch the school bus sat in my gut. As he’d anticipated, some of the jocks had been giving him and