Chapter 1
“No.
“I saidno. Not now.
“Steven,please, I’m begging you...
“No—
“No—
“I know what you want, but I just—
“I’m wearingblack, Stevie. I just want—
“Foronce, I just—”
Cherry’s phone chimed. She ignored it. She was trying to hold an overgrown dog at arm’s length while she got out the door.
Trying unsuccessfully. Stevie was too big and tooeagerto be contained—she pushed forward, tail-wagging, brown eyes pleading for affection. Stevie had human eyes. Like a gorilla.
“Okay,fine.” Cherry gave in, lifting her arms. “Fine, fine, fine.”
Stevie leapt forward, rubbing her big head against Cherry’s black pants, first one thigh, then the other.
“I know...” Cherry sighed and patted the dog’s broad back. “You’re a good girl, Stevie.”
Stevie was a two-year-old Newfoundland–Great Pyrenees mix. (Some people called this a “NewfiePyr.” Cherry was not one of them.) She was huge and white, with black spots around her eyes and ears—and she was as fluffy as a sheep or some sort of mountain goat. There were dog owners who actually collected their Great Pyrenees’ fur and madesweatersfrom it. (Again, Cherry was not one of them.)
Stevie looked like a polar bear wearing a burglar’s mask, and shewas probably the nicest dog who’d ever lived. Her full name was Stevie Nicks. Cherry’s ex-husband had named her.
Cherry’s phone chimed again. She kept ignoring it. Stevie was still trying to push closer. She was always like this when Cherry had been at work all day.
She wedged her head between Cherry’s legs and charged forward. This was apparently a show of submission—it was one of Stevie’s favorite moves—but Cherry had short legs, and the dog practically knocked her off her feet every time she attempted it.
“Stevie!” Cherry shuffled back, trying to find her balance. “Jesus!” Her phone double-chimed, two texts landing one after another.
Stevie was between Cherry’s legs and also wrapped around her knee. (She was as long as a Chinese dragon.) It was too much.
“That’s it—house!” Cherry ordered. “You have to go to your house, I’m sorry. I can’t do this right now.”
Stevie heard the word “house” and dutifully trotted over to her wire kennel. The dog was well trained, Cherry would give Tom that. She handed Stevie a probiotic treat and closed the door. The kennel took up half the small front room they used as a foyer.
Cherry reached for a lint roller and started at her wrists. She was covered in white hair, even in places that Stevie hadn’t touched. There was hair in theairin Cherry’s house. It was a full Pig-Pen situation. Maybe Cherry should change her clothes...
Or maybe she should just stay home.
She didn’t really want to go to a concert by herself. She’d planned to go with her friend Stacia, but Stacia had flaked out, and Cherry couldn’t think of asingleother person who might want to take the extra ticket.
Cherry was thirty-six. Her friends didn’t go to concerts anymore—they had kids. Or they watched prestige television. Or they liked to get to sleep early so they could make it to spin class or whatever this year’s version of spin class was.Cherrydidn’t even go to concerts anymore.
Tom hated concerts. He didn’t care about music, and he didn’t likepeople. Anytime Cherry had tried to take Tom to a concert, he’d spent the whole night frowning at everyone, and he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Tom had resting uncomfortable face.
Cherry started with the lint roller again at her shoulders. Her phone chimed.
She’d bought tickets for this concert on the day that it was announced. Goldenrod was her favorite Omaha band. She’d seen them play live twice, before Tom—and before the band had gotten kind of famous and broken up. Tonight was a reunion show. They were going to play their first album straight through. Cherry didn’t want to miss it. She was tired ofmissingeverything.
Her phone chimed, and she pulled it out of her back pocket to take a look. The group chat with her sisters had thirty-five new messages. Cherry opened it.
