Page 14 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“Hmm . . .” Allison tapped her chin, like she was trying to remember. “I’d have to find one of the other volunteers to let me know. You know how many people it takes to make these things run,” she dug, the levels of their conversation like geological rock layers, accumulating and compacting in on themselves. “I’ll see if we can send someone your way soon, if you’d just pop back over there for now. You seem to be so well-dressed for it that I’m sure we just thought you were going to be there for the day.”

The sugarcoated insults were starting, and Blake refused to look down at her tank top and shorts, which were very similar to what she wore most days. All of her dresses were tucked in suitcases that she’d yet to unpack, first from her parents’ and now at her new place, like something was holding her back from slipping into the requisite uniform of Cypress Falls’s perfect Stepford wives.

The heat of summer had rolled in, and donning a face full of makeup and fitting into the town’s expectations had felt like the smallest rebellion, something that was her choice to eschew instead of another part of her life that had been stripped away from her.

Blake tsked, rocking back on her feet and smiling lopsidedly. “You know, as much as I’d love that, I’m afraid I’ve got to run to another function. Busy day and all. I figured that given how casual this event tends to be, it made the most sense.” They didn’t know that the other function was drowning her loneliness in a pint of ice cream with the AC cranked up, her electric bill be damned.

“Bless your heart,” Allison murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly. It was clear that she hated the idea that anyone could consider today’s events a second choice on their dance card. “Always thinking things through.”

The knowledge buoyed Blake’s resolve, and she stood a little taller. “You know me, Allison.”

Allison rolled her lips, and Blake wondered if she’d go for the jugular. Say the things that, at least up until now, no one had dared say to her face.

Allison leaned forward, like she was going to talk quietly—a secret shared between friends—but her voice maintained the same tone when she placed her hand on Blake’s warm forearm. “I know that things must be hard for you lately. It’s so nice that you’ve found . . . other endeavors to occupy your time. I’m sure it’s been a big change.”

Behind Allison, the gaggle of women whose babies Blake had held and whose confidences she had never betrayed were all listening closely, both to get the gossip to report out the second that Blake walked away and to figure out where the party line on Blake’s acceptance into the circle currently stood.

Even though Blake’s stomach felt like it was filled with rocks, she didn’t let Allison see the impact of her words. She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, she glanced back toward the edge of the park before locking eyes with Allison again. “A fresh start really is such a unique opportunity. Not everyone has the grace you do.” Blake held her gaze, letting the group’s eyes and ears zero in on them before she added, leaning closer, “Overlooking our husbands’ indiscretions does sometimes feel like its own job, doesn’t it?”

Acting like this didn’t make Blake feel good. In fact, it made her feel pretty damn shitty about herself. She didn’t want to bring up the well-known knowledge that Allison’s husband was just as much of a philandering asshole as Noah. And still, the craziest part was that Allison probably thought she had some moral high ground to stand on, given that she’d managed to maintain her marriage in the face of those obstacles.

Unfortunately, she did actually have two important things over Blake. First, she’d been doing this a lot longer. And second, she loved every second of dressing someone down whom she saw as lesser and putting them in their place.

Which was why Allison parried easily, her voice saccharine sweet when she said, “Well, it’s good that you don’t have to worry about that anymore, isn’t it?”

If looks could kill, Blake would be six feet under right about now. At least it would be colder down there.

CHAPTER SIX

Monroe had just gotten Maisie down for bed and grabbed a beer from the fridge when her phone rang.

Of course it was Sylvia.

She’d been dodging her calls since coming to Cypress Falls, but she’d known they’d have to talk at some point. All of her unfinished pieces were in New York, and they needed to be shipped here so she could continue working.

And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Sylvia wouldn’t want to agree to send them, hence why she’d been putting off this call.

Sighing, Monroe held the cold beer up to her cheek.

Guess there was no time like the present.

She hit the answer button and held the phone up to her ear. “Sylvia,” she said without preamble.

Sylvia’s determined voice grated in her ears. “It’s about time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Between dealing with my mom’s death and taking care of a five-year-old, I’ve been a little busy.”

That tempered Sylvia, though only slightly. “I’m sure it’s a trying time for you, Monroe. No one is disagreeing with you about that.”

Sylvia wasn’t an awful person—mostly. She was just dogged. Especially when it came to art. Double that when it came to Monroe’s art.

There wasn’t a world in which Sylvia could understand Monroe not throwing her entire existence into creating new pieces, regardless of what else was happening.

Monroe knew that it was what Sylvia would do, if Sylvia had her talent. And maybe that’s what had made things so tenuous between them. They were locked in together, in positions neither of them wanted to hold.

Sylvia was the purse strings, Monroe was the talent, and neither of them could ever be truly happy with the arrangement. It was crazy to think that they used to be in a relationship.

The quiet on the line extended until Monroe finally said, “I need you to send my supplies down here, along with my works in progress.”