Page 57 of A Thousand Little Goodbyes

“Yeah,” Grimshaw added on a hiccup. “And what’s more, Chrissielikesit.”

Grimshaw pushed past his cousin easily, his larger bulk and alcohol-fueled belligerence making him the physical superior of the two. Mitchell staggered back, the petals of the flowers falling to the tiled floor in a flurry of faded colors.

“Why are you guys acting like this? I thought you loved Chrissie.”

Scarlett would never be able to say for sure which of them Mitchell was talking to. His eyes were trained on his cousin, but the question belonged to Scarlett and Scarlett alone.

Because she did love Chrissie. She loved her more than any other person on the planet, more than the combination of every single attendee reciting psalms in the next room.

She also knew that if one more person sang her friend’s praises today, Scarlett would scream. Just once, couldn’t Chrissie drop the perfect facade and show how much she was hurting inside? For one day—the day of her grandmother’s funeral—couldn’t she be the hot mess so Scarlett could step up and be the heroine?

“Chrissie has nothing to do with this,” Scarlett said as she andGrimshaw stumbled-walked over the flowers and toward the exit. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at Mitchell for fear of what she’d find there.

Shock. Horror. Disappointment.

In other words, all the things she felt in herself and somehow couldn’t contain.

Chapter NineteenChicago, Illinois

Present Day

“Okay, so there are a few things I think you’ll really enjoy in Chicago.” Scarlett sat across from Chrissie in a café that sold a much fancier brand of tea than what they’d been offered at Great-Aunt Rose’s house—and with the price tag to match. A steaming pot of something called Apricot Amaretto sat between them, a timer on the table set to alert them when it had reached optimal stewing time. “The Museum of Contemporary Art is one of those things that everyone says you should go see, but it’s supposed to be such good weather tomorrow that I don’t think we should stay cooped up inside. Jackson Park has a ton of great outdoor spaces, and it’s impossible to leave the city without doing the architecture river tour. I wouldn’t mind driving you by the apartment where I used to live, and—”

The timer gave a cheerful chime, interrupting Scarlett in the middle of a flow of chatter that she was almost certainly using to avoid the real issue. Scarlett continued extolling the virtues of the Chicago tourist scene as she set about pouring the tea, either oblivious or uncaring of the fact that Chrissie hadn’t yet tried to lodge a wordin edgewise. There was nothing to say and even less to do, but that didn’t stop Chrissie from gratefully sipping as she tried to marshal her thoughts into a semblance of order.

Without getting her hands on the pills inside Scarlett’s purse, she had no way of knowing what made River so sure that Scarlett’s condition was more serious than she was letting on. A teenager was hardly a trustworthy source of medical information, even if said teenager had witnessed the loss of a parent to a similar condition.

Then again, Chrissie had only been seventeen when she’d parceled out pills for Scarlett’s grandmother, the colorful shapes filling the days of the week with depressing regularity. Even at that young age, she’d knownexactlywhat each drug meant.

“Hello? Earth to Chrissie. Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

Chrissie blinked, torn back to the present so suddenly that she almost dropped her cup. As her vision came into focus, she saw Scarlett with knit brows and dark shadows under her eyes.

The former made sense, given the strain between them; the latter if what River had said was true.

“Let me see the pills in your purse,” Chrissie said suddenly. She reached for the bag dangling from the table hook, but no matter how sick Scarlett was, she still had the reflexes of a cat.

“What? Why? No.” The bag was whisked behind Scarlett’s back, but not before she added, “What did that wretched brat tell you? Dammit, I knew we should’ve left her back in Boise. Our trip was never supposed to include a third person. She’s throwing everything off.”

Chrissie’s phone started ringing before she could respond.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Kat is just as bad as River. That child has the worst timing known to mankind.” Scarlett waved a hand at her. “Go ahead and answer it. I know you’re dying to talk to her so she can make you cry again.”

“In case you failed to notice, I haven’t criedoncesince everyone started slinging insults and cancer diagnoses at me. I think I deserve some credit.” Chrissie frowned down at the screen. The call wasn’t from Kat, but Walsh—and it wasn’t a voice call. He was videoing in. “But I’m going to take it outside, and if you follow me, I’ll scream to everyone that you’re trying to rob me.”

“And everyone saysI’mthe dramatic one,” Scarlett muttered. But she let Chrissie go outside without trying to follow.

“Oh, good. You’re not on the road. I was afraid I might’ve caught you behind the wheel.” Walsh’s kind, smiling face was such a welcome sight that Chrissie almost made a liar out of herself and started bawling on the spot. She’d always felt a frisson of electricity when she looked at him—whether he was swishing through the gym in his track pants and matching jacket or coaxing her down for drinks in a hotel lobby in slacks and a button-down—but this was different. This was like coming home after a long, wearying journey and finding the one person you wanted most waiting behind the front door.

“We’re stopping a few days in Chicago,” she said as she sagged against the brick exterior of the café. Even that, a slight relaxation of her normally rigid posture, seemed to bring immeasurable relief. “At least I assume that’s what we’re doing. Scarlett won’t tell me anything for sure. She’s being…difficult.”

Then she remembered who she was talking to.

“Sorry. I imagine you’re not having too great of a time, either. How’s the cleanup of Chernobyl going?”

“Oh, you know. Nuclear waste and mutant wildlife as far as the eye can see.” He grimaced, the heavy lines of his face folding like an accordion. “I’m really sorry, Chrissie. I should’ve deleted that photo the second we finished texting. I don’t know why I held on to it.”

Chrissie felt like she was tiptoeing across a tight wire in a circus act,balancing a bar burdened on either side with heavy, oversized barbells. One of the barbells was Kat and one was Scarlett, and they were both doing their best to send her plummeting to her death.