of Bernice’s macaroons. Her red lipstick smeared across the cookie before she set it back onto the plate. “Bernice, darling, this neighbor was on display throughout the entirety of our Garden Club party.”
A flash of recognition crossed Bernice’s face. “June, you’ve been crying over sweet, little old Charley?”
June scoffed. Where were her friends finding these ridiculous adjectives for this man? Charley Montgomery was not sweet. He wasn’t little, either. The man was tall, with strong arms. If he was ever inside June’s parlor, she imagined he would be knocking into her antique trinkets left and right. Not that there ever would be a reason for him to be inside her parlor, but still. It was something to consider.
“Rose, this poor man lost his wife just over two years ago.” Bernice took a sip of her tea and smiled. “June has been flouncing around her garden, tormenting him ever since.”
“I do not flounce,” June cried.
“Of course you do,” Bernice and Rose chorused. They eyed each other with irritation.
“I vote that you stop torturing the poor man.” Bernice’s voice boomed across the wood-paneled study. “Invite him over for tea.”
“I will not be inviting him anywhere.” June took off her hat and tugged at her black lace gloves. “The only thing that gives me any hope of surviving the situation is that it will be winter soon. We will be unable to garden and I will not see him until spring.”
“Well, based on what I saw of him . . .” Rose licked her lips and reached for the painted macaroon. “That would be your loss.” She chewed for a moment. “Which house does he live in again? The one on the right or the left, if I’m facing your home?”
“The left.” June narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Sorry I’m late.” Dorothy Chambers rushed up and slid into her chair. Slipping on her glasses, she said, “What did I miss?”
“We’re talking about June’s neighbor.” Bernice shook her head. “He’s very lonely.”
Dorothy adjusted her silver-framed glasses and peered at June. “Widow?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” June wished she’d done a better job of keeping this conversation at bay. “What is wrong with you people?”
“Nothing is wrong with us,” Rose said. “If your neighbor is a lonely widow, with only gardening as a companion, it’s our duty as women of society to bring him a casserole. Or two.”
June felt as though Rose had slapped her in the face. “I beg your pardon?”
“Rose,” Bernice hissed. “Don’t you dare.”
Rose patted her red hair like a film star. “June doesn’t like the man. What would it hurt?”
“Considering she doesn’t like him, we should stay away from him altogether.” Bernice folded her hands. “Right, June?”
Even though the very thought of Charley made her want to grab the mahjong tiles and throw them across the room, June certainly did not want Rose to make friends with him. The thought did not sit well with her. Not at all.
A bell rang at the front of the room, as though at the start of a boxing match. Rue Gable, with her perfectly coiffed hair and St. John’s pantsuit, held up an envelope full of money. “I think it’s time to get started, ladies,” she said. “Tonight, we are playing for quite a prize.”
“We certainly are,” Bernice mumbled.
“Good luck,” Rose said sweetly, then dealt out the tiles.
Eight
“Chloe,” Ben called, followed by some insistent knocking. “Chloe, answer the door!”
“Go away.” Chloe pushed her face down deeper into the starch of the bed pillows.
Chloe had been in bed for two days, with only the warm purr of Whiskers keeping her company. The scene with Dr. Gable repeated itself in her head, over and over. She felt like a total idiot for telling him off. Yes, maybe he’d deserved it with his smug little smirk and ridiculous ascot. Still, that didn’t make it right. How could she ever be a good therapist if she couldn’t control her own behavior?
“Chloe, I’m going to use my key,” Ben threatened.
Chloe let out a grunt and sat up. She walked to the door wearing only a T-shirt and underwear. Flipping the lock, she stumbled straight back to bed.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” Ben followed her.
Chloe drew the comforter up to her chin and stared at the ceiling, not speaking. “Hey.” Ben reached under the blanket and pinched her leg. “What’s wrong? You haven’t answered your phone in two days.”
“I’ve been busy.” She pressed her fists into her eyes. “Ruining my life.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” His voice was unnaturally gentle. “Tell me