“Not great. They wanted a reference from my last job.”
That seems…standard? But things are rarely typical with my sister. We’re opposites in nearly every way.
“Okay?” I say carefully.
“Well, it wasn’tentirelymy decision to stop working there.”
I knew—or at least, I suspected—when Cassidy showed up a month ago, saying she wanted to help take care of Mom and for Tommy to be around family as he got older, that there was more to the story than altruistic intentions. But I hoped I was wrong.
“What part wasn’t your decision?”
“It was Drake’s fault,” she says defensively. “And mostly a misunderstanding.”
I don’t doubt Cassidy’s most recent ex contributed to whatever got her fired. I liked Drake marginally more than her previous boyfriend—the winner who took off right after Tommy was born, never to be seen or pay child support again—but not by much.
I glance at the clock, deciding to table this discussion for later. “Are you almost home?”
“Why?”
“Because I have to leave for work in thirty minutes.”
“What? I thought you were finished bartending.”
“I am. After tonight.”
Silence.
“It’s on the calendar,” I add, an edge creeping into my tone.
“I’m still downtown,” Cassidy tells me. “With traffic, I probably won’t be home for another hour.”
“You’re still downtown,” I repeat. “Why?”
“I, uh, I met Josh for coffee after the interview.”
My annoyance grows. The interview time changing is nothing Cassidy could control. But meeting her high school sweetheart for coffee? Entirely unnecessary.
She reads my silence correctly. “We were talking about job leads.”
“Get home as soon as you can,” I grit out, then end the call and toss my phone on the desk. It hits the wood with a clatter, knocking over my deodorant in the process.
One more thing to fix.
3
OTTO
Will answers on the third ring. For a few seconds, all I can hear is the rap music he likes to work out to blaring. The volume gets turned down, and then I hear his voice.
“Hey, man. Did you check out the burger place I told you about?”
He’s breathing heavily. I definitely caught him in the gym.
“Yeah,” I reply, glancing at the takeout container by my elbow. It’s empty, aside from a smear of ketchup. “The food was really good. Thanks.”
I tried to summon some excitement in my voice. The pause that follows tells me I didn’t do a great job.
It took me two hours to reply to most of my messages this morning. It was easier to sound upbeat in texts, but Will’s called me four times since I left Kluvberg. If I messaged him back, he’d probably just call again. Since I’m in his hometown, he seems determined to act as my virtual tour guide.
