At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,78

cover the decorating committee meetings, and you won’t cover anything to do with Ferguson, or the property sale, or our families. You are not capable of being objective. And because of that, if I ever see you publish another single word about us, I swear to God, Donovan and I will come after you. You’ve let your personal drama turn you into a selfish, manipulative cow, and I’m frickin’ done with it, Carrie.”

Her face flushes red, and her gaze drops to the ground.

“You’re the ones who are selfish. All you care about is the money, but this deal doesn’t just affect you, it affects the whole town.” Her voice is husky with anger. “We’re talking about five hundred houses in a subdivision. Thousands of people moving in. A huge potential impact on the environment. And I am telling you, there’s something shady about this property deal, and I don’t just mean your obviously fake marriage.”

“Then give the story to another reporter at your paper,” I say icily. “I’m not trying to get in the way of legitimate investigations.”

Her gaze slides away. “I tried,” she says frostily. “They did a really weak investigation and then let it go.”

“Because there’s nothing to uncover!” I shout. “You looked into it, your other reporter looked into it, and you came up with nothing! For the love of God, get the hell over yourself and move on!”

Carrie looks wretched and defeated. “I will not write anything to do with your families or the property sale.” She turns around, her shoulders slumped.

I’ve won. I should feel great.

I don’t.

I hurry after her as she stalks off. “Wait.”

“What now?” She glares at me, tears beading on her mascaraed lashes. “You want to gloat?”

“No. I want to talk. Carrie, you really need to move on from this bullshit with Marcus.”

“Oh, I need to move on?” she sneers. “From my husband of twenty years?”

“Carrie. I know – the whole town knows – how badly he treated you. He’s an asshole. He treated you horribly.”

“If you’re about to tell me I’m better off without him, don’t bother.” Her eyes are red-rimmed, and tears brim and spill over.

I run my fingers through my hair, exasperated. “No, I’m not going to say that, because you’d have been better off if your husband wasn’t a sad, insecure, cheating cliché. But that’s not the point. You’re letting him take over your entire life. You’re hurting yourself, and lots of other people too, with this obsession. What does your therapist think about all of this?’

“Therapist?” she snorts, looking offended.

“Counselor. Whatever. You mean you actually went through all of this without even talking to anyone about it?” My eyes widen in shock. “If I hadn’t had a counselor when I went through my breakup with Slimon, I think I would have crawled into bed and never gotten out again.”

“I talk to my sister all the time,” she huffs.

“That’s great, but you need more than that. She’s got her role, which is to be your cheerleader and best friend. That just means she’s going to sit there and agree with you that he’s a tiny-dicked hairy-eared fuckwad and you should put dog poop on the seat of his Porsche, or whatever.”

“Who told you that? Nobody saw anything!” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows shoot up in alarm.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’ve had your fun with getting back at him. You’ve also gone to jail and are at risk of tanking your career. You need someone to help you come up with healthy coping mechanisms to get past this.”

I don’t wait for an answer. I turn and walk back to the building, so I can reassure everyone that the story won’t be in tomorrow’s paper, and also rip everyone a new one for acting like a bunch of kindergarteners. I hope Carrie seeks help, but that’s up to her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

SIENNA

"Let us declare June 19 as a national day of mourning,” I say loudly as Pamela and I stride through the front doors of Le Gourmand. “Businesses shall shutter their windows. Flags shall be flown at half-mast. All I ask is that you remember me as I was. Farewell, my youth, gone too soon.”

“Oh my God, over-dramatic much?” she scoffs.

“Merely tragically realistic. I saw several crows’ feet this morning.” I tap the corners of my eyes. “I mean, they were there yesterday too, but today they’re noticeably deeper. They know it’s my thirtieth birthday, and I can’t hold them back any longer.”

“Sentient crows’ feet? Yes, I’d worry.” We pause by the hostess