said, speaking quietly so only her friend could hear.
“I love you, too, String Bean. You talented hussy. I will treasure it always, I swear.”
Angie could see all the memories they shared reflected in Billie’s eyes as her friend drew back from their hug—the years at boarding school, the mistakes they had made, the highs, the lows. Unexpected sentimental tears burned at the back of her eyes and she blinked rapidly.
Billie sniffed, too.
“Do I need to go get the tissues?” Michael asked drily.
“We’re having an intense moment of womance here, do you mind?” Billie said.
Everyone laughed and the moment was gone. Angie helped clear the table while Billie played a game of tag with the children, running around the backyard until they were all breathless. Angie loaded the dishwasher and smiled to herself as she listened to Billie complaining about how she would have to retire from playing tag now that she was an old lady of thirty-two. Angie was rinsing out a salad bowl when Billie entered the house, red-faced, hands on her hips as she labored to catch her breath.
“Wow, you really are winded, you tragic fossil,” Angie said as her friend walked to the cupboard and reached for a glass.
“Don’t laugh. Your birthday is coming up soon,” Billie said.
She was genuinely out of breath and the smile faded from Angie’s lips. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just need some water.” But Billie’s hand trembled as she held her glass under the water.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
She waved an impatient hand, already walking away with her drink. “I’m fine.”
Angie shrugged and resumed rinsing the salad bowl. The sound of glass shattering had her spinning around. She was in time to see Billie press her hands to her chest before collapsing to her knees, the sound of bone hitting wood a loud, resonant thunk.
“It hurts,” Billie gasped, fingers pressing into her chest.
Then she hit the floor, unconscious, her body loose and lifeless.
Angie let the salad bowl crash into the sink.
“Michael!” she screamed. She rounded the counter, her bare feet slipping on the floor. She fell to her knees beside Billie’s pale, still body as Michael appeared in the doorway.
“What happened?” he asked, his face a stark, terrified white as he took in his wife’s body on the floor.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. Call an ambulance.”
CHAPTER ONE
Ten months later
THE FAMILIAR HEAVINESS settled over Angie as she parked in front of Billie’s house. Every time she came here, she saw the same image in her mind’s eye: the flashing blue and red ambulance lights reflecting off the white stucco facade, the shocked neighbors gathered on the sidewalk, Billie’s too-still body being rushed to the ambulance, an EMT working frantically to keep her alive.
Angie reached for her purse and the bag containing the gifts she’d bought in New York and made her way up the drive, noting the mail crowding the letterbox. The lawn needed mowing, too.
A pile of shoes lay abandoned on the porch—two pairs of child-size rubber boots and a pair of adult sneakers. She hit the doorbell, checking her watch.
After what felt like a long time, she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. It swung open and Michael appeared, his features obscured by the screen.
“Angie.” He sounded surprised, but she’d emailed him three days ago to tell him she’d be coming by to see him and the kids once she arrived home.
“Hey. Long time no see,” she said easily.
He rubbed his face. “Sorry. I forgot you said you were coming over.” He pushed the screen door open. “Come in.”
His hair was longer than when she’d flown out six weeks ago, his jaw dark with stubble. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, both hanging on his frame.
“How are you?” she asked as she kissed his cheek.
“We’re getting by.” His gaze slid away from hers and he took a step backward, one hand gesturing for her to precede him up the hallway to the kitchen. “How was New York?”
“Good. Busy. Hot and hectic.” She’d gone to train with an American jewelry designer and show her work at an arty little gallery in Greenwich Village. She’d also gone to get away, because she’d needed to do something to shock herself out of her grief.
She blinked as she entered the dim kitchen and living space. The blinds had been drawn on all the windows, the only light coming from the television and around the edges of the blinds.
It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust enough to