She was still in something of a blind rage as she sailed into the kitchen and opened the fridge in search of the tequila. But something very small and vague registered and she froze, her senses tingling with warnings of danger. She slowly closed the fridge door and turned her head.
“Hi, Edie.”
The ghost of Frances Delafield was standing in her kitchen. And she’d brought the ghosts of Joan Harris and Irene Kim, too. And somehow, they knew Marcy? Because Marcy was standing with them.
Edie couldn’t make sense of it, and it didn’t matter, because her legs had given away and she was sliding to the ground.
Eleven
“Nana!” Marcy was beside her, too close, panic-stricken. “Nana, are you okay?”
Edie pushed Marcy’s hand from her forehead. “I’m perfectly fine. Help me up.”
“Maybe we should call—”
“Don’t you dare,” Edie said, and rolled onto all fours to help herself up. She stood, straightened her silk robe, tightened her sash, and then turned to glare at her past. “You have to go. All of you. Out,” she said, and flung her arm in the direction of the front door.
“Could we just—” Frances started.
“No! Get out of here. How did you evengethere?” she cried, her thoughts warring between shock and fear. Had they been found out after all this time? Did Simon—
“I’m sorry, Nana,” Marcy said, her face in front of Edie’s again. “I let them in. They said they were your friends.”
Edie was already shaking her head. “They’re no friends of mine.”
“Ouch,” Irene said. “That hurts.”
“Just hear us out,” Joan said. “Think of it as catching up.”
Were they insane? “No!” She paused, certain she’d heard something upstairs, some movement. She feared Simon was coming downstairs for snacks, and her heart raced faster. She’d managed to stave off an arrest the last time, but she didn’t know if she could do it again. She could not risk Simon finding them here and immediately began to hustle her dear old friends toward the back door by crowding their space.
“Five minutes,” Frances said. A tear drop of perspiration slid down her temple. “We just want to talk about getting the gang back together for one last go.”
“What gang?” Marcy asked.
Edie lost her mind in that moment and directed her fury at Frances. “You came here to this house, where my husband lives, to say that? Are youinsane? Get the fuck out.”
“Nana!” Marcy cried.
Good God, did this really have to happen with Marcy in the room? “Sorry,” Edie said curtly, but her granddaughter looked stunned. Genteel Southern ladies did not speak that way. Foster kids did. “Listen, honey.” She jumped back to the fridge and threw open the door. She frantically pulled out some cheese, some ham. She slammed that door shut then lunged for the pantry and grabbed a box of crackers. She threw those things on a serving tray and thrust it at her granddaughter. “Take this up to Pappa.”
“What?” Marcy was forced to grab the tray before one of them dropped it. “But—”
“Sit and talk with him if you have to, but don’t let him leave that room. Do you hear me? I need five minutes.”
Marcy looked at Joan, Frances, and Irene.
“Marcy!” Edie snapped.
“Yes, ma’am,” Marcy said, and went out with the tray, pausing to look back once more.
Edie’s heart had climbed out of her chest and lodged in her throat. “Which one of you idiots thought this was a good idea?”
Joan and Irene pointed immediately at Frances.Frances, her dearest friend. The three of them, ghosts in her memory but nowstanding in front of her. How odd that they would all look the same. But older. And Frances looked too pale, too thin. And a bit too sweaty for some reason.
Frances held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, not the best plan. But in our defense, we didn’t know if you’d be here. We weren’t even sure you lived here.”
“Well, I do, and so does Simon, and he is upstairs.”
