and Greg weren’t married anymore. The most amazing boy in school slash football captain slash homecoming king had indeed married her. A few weeks before their tenth anniversary he’d cheated and she’d divorced him. Now at thirty-three, she found herself living as one of the most pitied creatures ever—a divorced woman with a child about to hit puberty. And there wasn’t enough smoky eye or hair color to make that situation look the least bit pretty.
She finished cleaning up and retreated to the break room for a few minutes before her last client—a double appointment of sixteen-year-old twins who wanted their hair to be “the same but different” for the dance. Rachel reached for the bottle of ibuprofen she kept in her locker and shook out two pills.
As she swallowed them with a gulp of water, her cell phone beeped. She glanced at the screen.
Hey you. Toby’s up for keeping both boys Thursday night. Let’s you and me go do something fun. A girls’ night out. Say yes.
Rachel considered the invitation. The rational voice in her head said she should do as her friend requested and say yes. Break out of her rut. Put on something pretty and spend some time with Lena. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything like that.
The rest of her, however, pointed out that not only hadn’t she done laundry in days, but she was also behind on every other chore it took to keep her nonworking life running semi-smoothly. Plus, what was the point? They would go to a bar by the pier and then what? Lena was happily married. She wasn’t interested in meeting men. And although Rachel was single and should be out there flashing her smile, she honest to God didn’t have the energy. She was busy every second of every day. Her idea of a good time was to sleep late and have someone else make breakfast. But there wasn’t anyone else. Her son needed her, and she made sure she was always there. Taking care of business.
She’d been nine when her father had died suddenly. Nine and the oldest of three girls. She still remembered her mother crouched in front of her, her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Rachel. I need you to be Mommy’s best girl. I need you to help take care of Sienna and Courtney. Can you do that for me? Can you hold it all together?”
She’d been so scared. So unsure of what was going to happen next. What she’d wanted to say was that she was still a kid and, no, holding it together wasn’t an option. But she hadn’t. She’d done her best to be all things to everyone. Twenty-four years later, that hadn’t changed.
She glanced back at her phone.
Want to come over for a glass of wine and PB&J sandwiches instead?
I’ll come over for wine and cheese. And I’ll bring the cheese.
Perfect. What time should I drop off Josh?
Let’s say 7. Does that work?
Rachel sent the thumbs-up icon and set her phone back in her locker, then closed the door. Something to look forward to, she told herself. Plans on a Thursday night. Look at her—she was practically normal.
“MRS. TROWBRIDGE IS DEAD.”
Sienna Watson looked up from her desk. “Are you sure?” She bit her lower lip. “What I meant is, how awful. Her family must be devastated.” She drew in a breath. “Are you sure?”
Seth, the thirtysomething managing director of The Helping Store, leaned against the door frame. “I have word directly from her lawyer. She passed two weeks ago and was buried this past Saturday.”
Sienna frowned. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? I would have gone to the funeral.”
“You’re taking your job too seriously. It’s not as if she would have known you were there.”
Sienna supposed that was true. What with Mrs. Trowbridge being dead and all. Still... Anita Trowbridge had been a faithful donor to The Helping Store for years—contributing goods for the thrift shop and money for various causes. Upon her death, the thrift shop was to inherit all her clothes and kitchen items, along with ten thousand dollars.
Unfortunately, nearly six months before, Sienna had received word of Mrs. Trowbridge’s passing. After the lawyer had given his okay, she’d sent a van and two guys to the house to collect their bequest...only to be confronted by Mrs. Trowbridge’s great-granddaughter. Erika Trowbridge had informed the men that her great-grandmother was still alive and they could take their vulture selves away until informed otherwise.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Seth said now as he pushed up his glasses. “The lawyer gave you the key to the house.”
“Something he shouldn’t have done. You know, it wouldn’t have happened if they’d hired a local lawyer. But no. They had to bring one up from Los Angeles.”
Sienna had apologized to Mrs. Trowbridge personally. The old lady—small and frail in her assisted-living bed—had laughed and told Sienna she understood. Great-granddaughter Erika had not. Of course, Erika was still bitter about the fact that Sienna had not only snagged the role of Sandy in their high school production of Grease but also—perhaps more important—won the heart of Jimmy Dawson in twelfth grade.
“She was a nice old lady,” she murmured, thinking she would have liked to have sent flowers. Instead, she would donate that amount to The Helping Store in Mrs. Trowbridge’s name. “I wonder if there’s anything left in her kitchen.”
“You think the granddaughter took things?”
“Great-granddaughter, and I wouldn’t put it past her. If she had her way, Erika would clean the place out. At least we’ll get the cash donation.”
“I’m meeting with the lawyer in the morning.”
Sienna was the donation coordinator for The Helping Store, one of a handful of paid staff. The large and bustling thrift store was manned by volunteers. All the proceeds from the store, along with any cash raised by donations, went to a shelter for women escaping domestic violence. Getting away from the abuser was half the battle. Over the years, The Helping Store had managed to buy several small duplexes on the edge of town. They were plain but clean and, most important to women on the run, far from their abusers.
Her boss nodded toward the front of the building. “Ready to tap-dance?”
Sienna smiled as she rose. “It’s not like that. I enjoy my work.”
“You put on a good show.” He held up a hand. “Believe me. I’m not complaining. You’re the best. My biggest fear is that some giant nonprofit in the big city will make you an offer you can’t refuse and I’ll be left Sienna-less. I can’t think of a sadder fate.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. Oh, sure, every now and then she thought about what it would be like to live in LA or San Francisco, but those feelings passed. This small coastal town was all she knew. Her family was here.
“Isn’t David from somewhere back East?” Seth asked.
She pulled open her desk drawer and collected her handbag, then walked out into the hallway. “St. Louis. His whole family’s there.”
Seth groaned. “Tell me he’s not interested in moving back.”
There
