could be wrong,” said Jennifer, taking another step.
Darci couldn’t help but smile at that. “Of course something’s wrong. He only just realized you were serious.”
On the counter, she located a packing box labeled “wine rack” and peeled it open. She’d wisely packed the corkscrew with the wine bottles for easy access after the move. Now, if she could only remember which carton held the glasses.
She pointed at another box on the island. “Check the white one.”
“You can’t hold my phone hostage.”
“Sure I can. You made me swear I would.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“No backsies.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You said, and I quote, don’t ever let me talk to that son-of-a-bitch again. I think the wineglasses are in the white box.”
Jennifer clamped her jaw.
Giving up, Darci reached out and pulled the carton closer to her, stripping off the wide packing tape. “He cheated on you, Jen.”
“He was drunk.”
“He’s going to get drunk again, and he’s going to cheat on you again. You don’t even know if that was the first time.”
“I’m pretty sure—”
“Pretty sure? Listen to yourself. You need to be 100 percent positive he never has and never will, or else you have to walk.”
“You are so idealistic.”
“Aha.” Darci had located the wineglasses. She extracted a pair of them and turned to the sink to give them a rinse.
“Nobody can ever know for sure,” said Jennifer.
“Are you listening to yourself?”
There was a long silence before Jennifer spoke. “I’m trying hard not to.”
Darci grinned as she shook water droplets from the wet glasses. “There you go. Welcome back, girl.”
She turned back to the breakfast bar, and Jennifer slid up onto one of the counter stools. “He’s just so...”
“Self-centered?”
“I was thinking hot.” Jennifer absently bent back the flaps of the cardboard box closest to her.
“There has to be more to a man than buff pecs and a tight butt.”
Jennifer gave a shrug as she peered into the depths of the box.
“Tell me I’m right,” said Darci.
“You’re right.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
Jennifer drew a heavy sigh and extracted a stack of old photo albums, setting them on the countertop. “I mean it. Can I have my phone back?”
“No. But you can have a big glass of this ten-dollar merlot.”
The two women had consumed plenty of cheap wine together. They’d been best friends since high school and had both won scholarships to Columbia, in graphic design. They’d roomed together for four years, sharing opinions, jokes and secrets.
Darci would trust Jennifer with her life, but not with Ashton Watson.
Her best friend had a weak spot when it came to the smooth-talking charmer. She’d dumped him three times in the past four months, but each time he’d waxed eloquent, swearing he’d be more thoughtful, less self-centered. And each time, she’d taken him back.
Darci wasn’t about to let it happen again. The man had no clue how to be in a couple.
Jennifer extracted three thick manila envelopes from a box in front of her and set them beside the photo albums. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Yes, you are.” Darci pushed one of the glasses across the wide counter.
Jennifer dug down and removed a worn leather wallet from the box, then turned the case over in her hands. “This is your dad’s stuff?”
“It’s from his top dresser drawer.” Darci gazed at the small collection of her father’s things. “I packed it away when I cleared out his apartment. I was too emotional to look through it that day.”
Jennifer looked worried. “You want me to leave it alone?”
Darci knew there was no point in procrastinating any longer. She perched on the other stool and took a bracing sip of the wine. “I’m ready. It’s been three months.”
Jennifer reached back into the carton and came up with an old wooden box.
“Cigars?” she asked.
“I only ever saw him smoke cigarettes.”
“It looks pretty old.” Jennifer sniffed at the wood. “Cedar.”
The lid was secured with a small brass clasp, and she slipped it free.
Darci felt more curious than distressed. She still missed her father every day, but he’d been sick and in pain for many months before his death. And though she didn’t know all the details, she knew he’d been in emotional pain for years, likely since her mother had taken off when Darci was a baby. She was beginning to accept that he was finally at peace.
Jennifer raised the lid.
Darci leaned in to look.
“Money,” said Jennifer.
The revelation confused Darci.
“Coins.” Jennifer lifted a row of plastic sleeves containing gold-and-silver coins. “It looks like a collection.”
“I sure hope they’re not valuable.”
“Why would you hope that?”
“He struggled for years to make ends meet. I’d hate to think he deprived himself and saved these for me.”
“He was still buying single malt,” said Jennifer.
Darci couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Born and raised in Aberdeen, Ian Rivers swore by a strong, peaty Scotch.
“What’s this?” Jennifer pulled a folded envelope from beneath the coins. A photograph was tucked in the fold, and she drew it out.
Darci checked the picture. “That’s definitely my dad.”
Ian was standing in a small, sparse office, his hand braced on a wooden desk. She flipped the photo, but nothing was written on the back.
Jennifer
