She didn’t turn the light on as she walked down the carpeted upstairs hall and then quietly continued down the sweeping staircase to the foyer. Her mom and dad bought the house when the development it was in had still been a blueprint in the model house’s showcase living room. Trish picked out all the fixtures and upgrades and she’d clung stubbornly to the house even after her husband moved out.
If Trish had been able to admit back then that her life would never be the picture-perfect image she’d wanted, would she be in the same mess today? If she had dealt with the hole her divorce left in her life, would she have been so desperate to connect with other people? Would Posy still be trying to work off the guilt she felt over being the wrong sort of daughter and picking the wrong parent?
That kind of what-if was absurd, especially because her mom was going to finally sell the house. Trish had, thankfully, set up a retirement fund and while she’d recently taken a loan from it, the bulk of her savings was intact. That meant Posy could meet with a Realtor about the house. And when Trish came back, the two of them would talk to an accountant about Wonders.
The house needed a lot of work before it could be sold. After Posy and her dad moved out, Trish filled up the empty hours with stuff.
Like the display space at Wonders, every corner was packed with collections and collectibles—everything from lighthouses, to thimbles to dollhouse furniture. If only she’d collected something valuable—Matisses, maybe, or original O’Keeffes. Posy might joke with her about hoarding, but the truth was, they weren’t going to be able to show the house until they cleared it out. It was impossible to see the generous space in its current state.
She turned down the hallway, heading for the kitchen, where she flipped the light on, surprising Angel, who was crouched near the sliding glass doors staring out into the dark backyard. The dog jumped and then sat down with her tail to the doors, watching Posy. If Angel had been a human, Posy would have thought she was embarrassed.
“You peeping that golden retriever next door?” Angel didn’t move. “Don’t bother. He told me he only likes smooth-coated chicks. Your curls are a turnoff.”
The dog didn’t take her eyes off her.
“You’ve met this Mitch guy? Is he the real deal?”
Angel flopped on the floor, her head resting on crossed front paws. She lifted the corner of her top lip in what might have been a yawn, but was more likely a growl.
Posy sat in one of the black wooden chairs at the kitchen island. She turned on her iPad and looked up Mitch’s Train Yard. The ex-surgeon looked friendly and normal in his photo. She’d waited her entire life for her mom to turn her laser focus and need for love on someone else. Knowing she had a boyfriend explained the relatively few phone calls and texts she’d been getting recently.
She just hoped he was on the up-and-up.
Before she continued her research, Posy called her cousin Maddy.
“The Knoll Retreat and Healing Center. This is Sister Maddy.”
“Maddy, it’s Posy.”
“What’s up? I thought you were on your pilgrimage to Trish’s house.” Maddy’s voice was warm and rich, hinting at the singing talent that had sent her to college for musical theater before she switched gears her senior year and pursued a position in the Daughters of Respite religious order. “How are you?”
“I’m at my mom’s. I guess I’m going to be here for a couple days, helping out. She’s closing Wonders. And selling her house. She met a new guy.”
“When did this happen? Didn’t I talk to you yesterday?”
“It was fast. Did you know about the fundraiser she hosted last month?”
“Someone forwarded the link. I think the retreat center sent a donation.”
As she talked, Posy looked up Chloe Chastain’s It’s a Mad, Mad Mommy blog.
“I’m looking at Chloe Chastain’s blog post about it right now. You wouldn’t believe how many comments and link backs there are.”
“Let me open it up,” Maddy said, and Posy listened as her cousin hit some keys. “Whoa. She looks good in that picture.”
Mixed in with the fundraising posts were Chloe’s regular stock-in-trade photos of her adorable daughters doing adorable things, accompanied by entries written by Chloe, who looked fairly adorable herself at the ripe old age of twenty-six.
“Chloe Chastain always looks good. Bed head is probably afraid of her.”
“It figures she’d have a blog about making life perfect. Remember when we were little and she was constantly making us do pretend weddings?” Maddy said. “You’d get so incensed because she made you be the groom.”
“I would have been happy being the priest. She just liked to make me mad.”
Maddy laughed. “It wasn’t as if she had to try very hard. Two people as competitive as you guys are—the conflict was inevitable.”
Except for her divorce, it sounded as if Chloe Chastain’s life had continued along the small-town-princess line it had been on when they were kids. Trish’s most common cause for complaint was that Posy wasn’t more like Chloe. There’d been a time when Posy would have sold her soul to be like her neighbor. In Posy’s worst memories, Chloe was always there, petite, poised, smart, graceful and so unrelentingly judgmental. Posy never felt more out of step than she did around Chloe.
“Look at the list of people who donated. Most of them aren’t even from here,” Maddy said. “This is huge.”
“My mom stole the money.” Posy was whispering even though no one else was around.
There was silence over the line.
Quickly, Posy went on, explaining how her mom had gotten into trouble. “Now this guy from the foundation is coming and I have to hold him off until my mom gets a loan from my aunt.”
“Oh. My. Goodness.”
“I hope the sisters don’t have your phone bugged.”
“Posy,” her cousin admonished. “Even if the sisters did listen in, they don’t have anything to do with punishing people for their sins. We have God for that.”
“Thank you, Maddy. You’re so kind. I can see why you went into the convent.”
“Does Chloe know?”
“No!”
“Because she won’t blink at the opportunity to bring your mom down. Imagine the traffic she’d get to her blog with that story? Especially if she can make herself look good in the process. Your mom will be crucified.”
Posy didn’t answer. What could she say?
“Sorry,” Maddy said. “That wasn’t helpful.”
“You haven’t met the guy from the Fallon Foundation when he’s been in town, have you?”
“Deacon? He seems very nice.”
“His brother, Wes.”
“I haven’t met that one.” She heard Maddy’s keyboard. “Let’s see what Google says.”
Posy knew enough about the world to know that if you were working for a foundation and you had the same last name as the guy who’d endowed it, you were probably privileged.
She typed his name in, too. Wes. Who named their kid Wes? People who wanted their kid to get beaten up in elementary school, that was who. His parents had made a bad call on that one.
Maddy’s keyboard fell silent and Posy stared at her own screen. Her cousin whistled.
“Your mom stole money from a really good-looking guy.”
There were