She looked up sharply. “Did you drink the last of mywine?”
“You still have two morebottles.”
“Phew,” Denise said. “I thought I was going to have to kick you out. Pour me a glass, wouldyou?”
“Sure.” Bree took a glass down from the cupboard and uncorked a bottle. “Besides…I thought you were finally going to tell me what happened between you and Chris the night of Sarah’sfuneral.”
Denise fumbled the DVD cases, sending them crashing to the ground. Shooting Bree a baleful look, she stooped to pick them up. “Who said anythinghappened?”
“You didn’t say nothing happened, so process of elimination says somethinghappened.”
Avoiding her intense and all-too-knowing gaze, Denise flipped the cases so they all faced the same way. Something happened alright. Something was still happening. Or could happen, if she gave it achance.
She shoved the stack of movies in the box. “I lost my shit, we had sex, and I cried.” Bree wasn’t going to be satisfied with that answer, but she deserved a little bit of shockfactor.
“You…what?” Bree set the wine bottle down with athud.
“You look like a fish. Close yourmouth.”
“I’m not aguppy.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Go back and start at thebeginning.”
Denise hid her grin. “Hang on.” She needed to make sure there were no little earslistening.
Down the hall, Kimber and Kaden sat on Kimber’s bed watching a show on their tablet, Sprocket taking up the entire foot of the bed. “You guys okay?” she asked from thedoorway.
All three looked up. “Yes,” Kimbersaid.
“Thirty minutes, then teeth andstories.”
“Okay, Aunt Denny.” The kids went back to staring at the tablet and Sprocket laid her head back on herpaws.
They seemed to be holding it together, but it was hard to tell. They had their first session with the grief counselor in a couple of days. The truth would come out eventually. Until then, she wouldn’t push them, knowing from experience how much it couldbackfire.
Heading back to the main part of the house, she picked up the wine glass and sat opposite Bree on thecouch.
“Theygood?”
“They appear to be. We’ll see after nextweek.”
Bree nodded. “Spill. Losing your shit, sex, crying. You don’t have to go in that order. In fact, start with the sex.” She wagged hereyebrows.
Denise sipped her wine, a flush that had nothing to do with the pinot grigio blooming high on her cheeks. “It was…good. Better than good. Until I started crying and tried to kick himout.”
Two slow blinks. “Tried. Maybe you should start with losing yourshit.”
Staring down at her glass, she thought back to that moment. “I broke. I hit the wall and I hit it hard. Everything just… I couldn’t keep it locked downanymore.”
“Finally,” Breesaid.
Denise snapped her head up at her friend’s sigh of relief. “What do you mean ‘finally?’”
“You know you’re my favorite person, but, dude, I’ve been waiting for it for weeks. Months, honestly. Ever since Sarah wasdiagnosed.”
“Why didn’t you sayanything?”
