“You’re a good friend, too, sweetie. We’ll have lunch when you get back. I need pictures of the leaves and your guy!”
“Okay,” Frances said. “I’ll call you.”
“You better,” Marjorie said cheerfully. “Now, I’ve got to go. Ken and I are going shopping.”
After Frances hung up, she held her phone tight in her hand. She didn’t have the heart or the guts to call Aaron one last time. So she texted him.Hi Aaron, it’s your mom. Just checking in. Headed back to Houston in a couple of days.
He responded right away.
Okay. Don’t forget to book a flight. Jackie and I are looking forward to seeing you. TTYL.
She sent him a heart emoji in response.
With that done, the anxiety could really kick in to full gear. She went into the bedroom and found Edie sitting cross-legged on the floor, just gazing at the old safe door.
“You okay?” Frances asked.
“No. I’m going to blow this. That safe has five wheels, Franny. Five! I can hardly do three.”
It was strange to see Edie so nervous. She’d always been the one among them so certain about everything. So sure of herself. Some would even say dangerously overly confident. “You’ve got this, Edie.”
Edie shook her head. “I don’t know.” She turned her gaze from the safe door to Frances. “I’ll need you to write down the numbers I give you.”
“Anything you need.” France came down on the floor to sit next to Edie.
Edie took her hand. “How are you? Feeling okay?”
“Don’t start. I’m fine. I mean, my stomach is in knots, and I may be sick, but that’s just nerves. Otherwise, I’m fine.”
Edie squeezed her hand. “Okay, then, get out of here. I’ve got to try to crack this again or lose my mind worrying about it.”
Frances leaned over and hugged Edie. “We’re still the baddest bitches from New York.”
“Good Lord, the lies you tell yourself, Franny.”
Frances left Edie and went into the kitchen. Irene was there, her eyes glued to her computer screen.
“How’s it going?”
“Like clockwork. Our boy ordered breakfast this morning, so he’s alive. He hasn’t left the penthouse yet—probably too hungover. But Mark has been down to the vault.” She looked up. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. Feeling great.”
Irene frowned. “Seriously?”
“It is what it is, Irene. Where’s Joan?”
Irene looked Frances up and down, probably checking for any sign that she was going to die on the spot. “Hello,” Frances said.
“She’s out back.”
Frances walked to the kitchen window and looked out. Joan was moving through some kung fu moves. “She is surprisingly limber for her age,” Frances mused.
“And strong.”
“What about the smoke bombs?” Frances asked.
“In the box behind you.”
