doing my best, but not even I find myself persuasive. Some lawyer I’d make. Truth is, Bennet was like the cast on a broken bone. He gave me the support I needed to mend and the ability to get stronger in the process. But the cast was cut off too soon. I’m still fractured. Without Bennet in my life, I’m afraid I’ll still need the structure Andrew gives me. And that means law school. But…at least I’d still have my friend. It wouldn’t be like I’ve lost everything. So why does it feel like all is lost?
There’s a click and a voice says, “Knock, knock?”
I push up on my elbows and turn toward the sound. Someone is cracking open my front door. My heart jumps with expectation, even though the voice is not the one I want so desperately to hear.
Rachel peers at me through the gap. “Can we come in?”
I swing my legs around so I’m sitting on the edge of the couch. She holds the door for Natalie, who’s pushing in two ten-gallon plastic tubs. Beads of perspiration dot her hairline. As lonely as I am, this is not the company I was hoping for. I get up off the couch and walk toward them.
“Here.” Rachel hands me a small paper bag. “I refuse to do anything crafty without peanut M & Ms.”
“Right,” I say, as if I understand what she’s talking about and why they’re here. “What’s going on?” There’s a note of irritation in my voice, but neither of them acknowledges it. “Was I supposed to be expecting you?”
“Summer Fest decorations,” Natalie says while unloading things from the first plastic tub onto my kitchen table. “Mom says I’m not allowed to procrastinate, and you said you’d help.” She stops unloading and sighs. “I’ve got to decorate forty votive candleholders for the dance; one for each table, y’know. And I’m not doing this alone. Hey, is your A/C on?”
She and Rachel continue unpacking the first plastic tub, tossing crumpled newspaper balls through the air, littering the floor. I watch. When they are done, forty glass votive candleholders sit on the kitchen table, each shaped like a shot glass mounted on a saucer.
Rachel opens the second tub, which is full of large blue and white silk flowers. It’s nice to see my Greek theme is in full swing. It perks me up a little bit.
“See,” Natalie says, “the idea is to take these flowers and hot glue them around the base of each holder.”
“And then hope the flowers don’t catch fire when you light the candles?” I add.
“You’re a riot,” Natalie deadpans.
“Well, you have to admit…” Rachel adds in that throaty way I’ve come to love. She shoves one flower into her dreads. “You’d get your wish. It would definitely be ‘The Most Memorable Summer Fest Ever’ if you set fire to March’s barn.”
“Shut up, Rach. Remind me why I brought you here?” Natalie never even looks up at her, hell-bent on unloading all the silk flowers and keeping them from slipping off the table onto the floor.
“You brought me here because, even though you’ve gone totally Martha Stewart on us, you don’t want to hot glue one hundred and twenty flowers by yourself. That, and because Kate’s artistic talents are, as of yet, untested.” Rachel smiles at me in a challenging kind of way, baring all her teeth.
She’s hit her mark. “I’ll have you know,” I say, pointing my finger with faked conviction, “that I’ve got more artistic talent in my little—”
“Yeah, big talk, Summer Girl. Put your glue gun where your mouth is.”
“Rock on,” Natalie says.
“Give me that,” I demand, grabbing a pair of clippers. I start hacking off the long plastic stems from the flowers and find that it’s a good outlet for the edginess that has been brewing inside me over the last week.
Lucy makes quick work of collecting all the green sticks that fall on the floor, creating a little cache under her mat. She lays her chin along the edge of the rug, looking worried that we’ll discover what she’s done and take them all away. Her eyebrows twitch as she looks back and forth between us, watching our every move.
“Ooh, look at Kate go,” Rachel teases. She grabs a salad bowl from the cupboard and fills it with a pound-sized bag of M&Ms.
Natalie plugs in three glue guns on the kitchen counter while Rachel sits in one of the red lacquered chairs, popping fistfuls of candy into her mouth.
“Crap,” Natalie says,