Kim set her menu down and drummed her French-tipped nails on the distressed wooden table. “Let’s order and you can tell me what is going on, because there’s something. And then I have some exciting news to share with you.”
“Oh, what’s up?”
“Nuh-uh.” She waved the waitress over. “You first. After we order.”
“I don’t know what I want yet. What are you getting?”
“Santa Fe salad. But choose your own meal . . . the way you used to.”
“Fine.” Eva closed her eyes, lifted her finger in the air, twirled it a bit, and planted it firmly on the plastic menu. Her eyes opened, and she glanced down. “Eggplant caponata with sun-dried pesto crostini, it is.”
They placed their order with the server, and then Eva sighed and told Kimberly what she’d overheard in the lunchroom, feeling no need to hold back any details. After all, Kim and Brent’s mom, Sherry, were the two reasons Eva wasn’t still glued to her bed day in and day out, her apartment scattered with half-eaten salads and empty pint containers of Halo Top ice cream. When they’d seen her uncharacteristic listlessness, they’d helped her realize her need for therapy.
Her therapist, Charlotte, had recommended Eva find something productive to do with her days that would make her feel close to her husband—which in turn would hopefully make her feel like herself again. Thus, she’d landed at the heart center, a place that had become near and dear to Brent after his father died of a heart attack.
The waiter delivered their lunch as Eva finished the story about her coworkers.
Barely noticing the food’s arrival, Kimberly slammed her fist on the table. The ice in their water glasses shook. “Those . . . I can’t even . . . Argh!” She sat back against the black cushioned booth and folded her arms across her chest, fire in her eyes. “I want to march right up to those women and give them a piece of my mind.”
Her loyalty warmed Eva’s heart. “They’re right, though. I’m awful at the job. But I am determined to get better. Maybe I can check out a book that’ll help—there has to be an Administrative Assisting for Dummies or something like that.” She picked up her fork and poked at the whole-grain bread topped with eggplant, olives, and capers. The fresh scent of roasted garlic aioli tickled her nose. “Enough about me. What’s your great news?”
Kimberly dug into her salad. “I just secured the Carlton wedding.”
“Congrats. That’s amazing!” Jessica Carlton was the youngest daughter of business tycoon and billionaire Louise Carlton and her senator husband. “This will be huge for your business.”
“Yeah, I’m thrilled.” Her friend paused, tilting her head and studying Eva. “There’s more. They saw your work in some magazine spread from early last year and specifically requested you for the flowers.”
Oh. Eva swallowed a gulp. “I . . .”
“I know you’ve taken some time off, and I’d never push you if you’re not ready.” Kimberly paused. “The actual wedding isn’t until the beginning of next June, if that helps. Although if you were ready to get back to it, I definitely have other events I could use you on in the meantime.”
Something deep inside Eva roared to life at the suggestion, craving the process of creating, the merging of her soul with the world.
But with Brent gone . . .
The roar became a mew, then all was silent.
“I don’t know, Kim. It’s just hard, you know? Designing for weddings, when . . . Well, I’ll have to think about it.” But she already knew she’d be saying no.
“All right. Just let me know your decision in the next few weeks, if possible.” Kimberly poked at a tomato on her plate. “Evie, I just can’t help but feel like you’re wasting your talent in a place where you’re not appreciated—and doing something that’s not you. Brent would want you to be happy, doing what you’re passionate about.”
“I know. But artists have to pull inspiration from a well deep inside—and mine is drained. Bone dry. When I met Brent, it was like meeting the other half of my soul. His courage and the way he lived life inspired me to be better. To be more creative.”
Eva smoothed her finger down the side of her glass, making a trail in the condensation.
“But now I have nothing to give, Kim. Life has no color.” Her hand thudded to the table. “And I’m afraid it never will again.”
* * *
For the first time in years, things were going according to plan.
Angela Jamison hustled inside Philip’s Place, praying Juliet would forgive Angela’s first-time tardiness in picking up her children. Her eyes roamed the waiting room and spotted her oldest daughter sitting underneath a framed photo of a golden retriever snuggling with a child. Lilly and Zach were likely in the counseling center’s playroom, though the whole place seemed eerily quiet.
Kylee hunched over her phone, fingers flying across the screen. A goofy grin split the fifteen-year-old’s face—evidence that she did smile on occasion, even if it was never directed at her mother.
Angela advanced and touched Kylee on the shoulder, causing her daughter to nearly drop her phone.
Upon seeing Angela, her features tightened. “Hey.”
“Hi, sweetie. Did you have a good session today?”
Silence. “Sure.”
Angela bit the inside of her cheek. “Where are your brother and sister?”
“Back there somewhere. Waiting for you.” Accusation laced her tone.
“I’m sorry I’m late. But I have some good news. Great, actually.”
Kylee stood and snatched the keys from Angela’s hand. “I’ll be in the car.”
“I was hoping you’d go”—the door shut—“get your siblings.” Angela blew out a breath and unclenched her fists. Buck up, Angela. She pasted a smile on her face and wandered into the bowels of the facility. Was this how children felt when heading into the principal’s office? “Hello.”
“We’re back here,” Juliet called from her office.
Angela crossed the large central room filled with toy bins and tables, each of which housed a different craft—from coloring to clay, paper doll making to beads. She reached Juliet’s door, the scent of lavender greeting her as she entered.
Seven-year-old Lilly lay curled up on the red couch asleep, her head resting on Juliet’s lap, and ten-year-old Zach sat in the La-Z-Boy tucked in the corner, reading his latest library book.
Juliet looked up. “Hey, Angela.” The mom of two, who couldn’t have been much older than Angela’s thirty-six years, stroked Lilly’s long brown hair.
Something twisted in Angela’s gut at the sight. “I’m very sorry I’m so late. I texted Kylee . . .” The excuse seemed insufficient now. Yes, a promotion was a big deal, especially in Angela’s world. After Wes died, she’d transitioned from homeschooling her children to working forty-five hours during the week as a realty office receptionist and fifteen hours at a local spa’s front desk on the weekend. But as her military father had always said, punctuality was tantamount to godliness—one of the only lessons he’d intentionally taught her before shipping her off to live with her aunt in California.