For All She Knows (Potomac Point #3) - Jamie Beck Page 0,1
of overhead lights drilled on.
That my daughter could sleep in this brightly lit, hardly peaceful waiting room astounded me. I toyed with a curl of her blonde hair, wanting to cradle her to my chest and squeeze her tight, as if my arms would keep her safe in a way that I’d failed to do for my son.
A thick tear rolled down my cheek while I tried to follow Sam’s lead and grasp for positive thoughts. None came. Or if they did, they got crowded out by self-recriminations.
Then Mimi’s splotchy face and the somber faces of those cops reappeared, and the agony of it all stuck in my throat like a bowling ball.
“Mrs. Phillips?” A doctor whose name I couldn’t remember how to pronounce stared down at me as Sam returned. “I have an update.”
CHAPTER ONE
GRACE
The previous Monday, January 4
Stewart’s Grocery Mart, Potomac Point
“Oh, hey, Grace.” Mimi flashed a smile while her knee-high leather boots, tight jeans, and fringed sweater drew looks from other shoppers perusing the produce aisle. Her blue-tipped curls were piled high on her head with a bohemian headband decorated with tiny pink cutout flowers.
My shallow leather loafers, gray slacks, and pearl studs wilted in comparison.
“Hey, I didn’t expect to run into you.” I smiled, remembering then that she closed her hair salon on Sundays and Mondays.
“Sorry about this morning’s post in the group.” She raised her hand like a witness testifying on the stand. “I swear, I had nothing to do with it.”
“What post?” I never checked the Potomac Point Moms Facebook page as frequently as she did. She claimed it helped her engage with customers and organically grow her business. On the surface that seemed sound, but every week at least one comment would leave her feeling glum or excluded.
“Oh, you didn’t see it?” She grimaced. “So this is awkward,” she singsonged. “But the thing is, whatever happens tonight, we’re friends. I get why you object to the budget, and you get why I support it. We both love our sons, so we can’t hold fighting for them against each other. It isn’t personal, right?” She lifted a cantaloupe and sniffed it before putting it in her cart.
“Of course not.” Although in truth, it had already begun to affect us. For starters, this was the first time in a decade we were grappling with something we couldn’t discuss with each other. It’d been odd to not be as candid as we normally were about everything from our sex lives to our kids’ issues. Plus, Mimi’s leadership role in the pro-budget group had won her respect from some women who’d previously been dismissive. She deserved that, so I didn’t begrudge her, but I worried her expanding pool of friends might overshadow our relationship.
While my husband and children sustained me, life without Mimi would be lacking something—like a holiday table with an empty place setting. She brought easy laughter and adventure into my days: the Carrie Bradshaw to my Charlotte York. Whether dragging me to a psychic, organizing a meteor shower watch party with our kids years ago, or even making me take a hip-hop dance class one autumn, she made life a little more interesting.
Despite my uneasiness, I winked as we pushed our squeaky-wheeled carts around the bend. “That doesn’t mean I’ll wish you good luck, though.”
She chuckled. “Me neither, but we’re still on for coffee early Friday morning.”
“Sugar Momma’s?”
“Is there even a question?” Mimi blew me a kiss before we parted at the deli counter.
Meandering away, she idly swung her hips and hummed while pausing to scan the artisanal bread display. Like many of the other men in town did whenever she passed by, Leo—the guy working the deli counter—wore an appreciative grin as she wandered off.
Mimi showed no anxiety about the upcoming hearing. Why would she? The budget’s nearly three-million-dollar proposal to modernize the turf and field house and create a new practice field would be difficult to overturn. As a VP of the school’s booster club, she’d rallied all its alumni to show their support. The town hall auditorium would be packed with champions tonight, many of whom were longtime residents with deep ties in the community, unlike me.
When we were first married, Sam and I had lived in Baltimore, where he’d worked crazy hours at a national accounting firm while I’d put my fine arts degree to use teaching piano at a music studio near our condominium. A perfect job for me, since stage fright made concert performances impossible. I didn’t regret