Page 28 of Holding On

“Finn says it’s a conflict of interest with a client? That it could compromise a case? That seems odd. Who told her that?”

“Audrey. Audrey told her not to stay here.”

“Well, that’s weird. Audrey said squat last week at the barbeque when we were all talking about Maya coming.”

“Squat?”

“What?”

“So odd.”

“What?”

“So white.” I grin.

“What’s odd and white?” says Chloe, coming up the stairs with a plate of something wafting of icing, blueberries, and warm bread—glazed scones. Clotted cream sits in a blue ceramic dish beside them.

“We are definitely the best-fed vets in the entire world,” I say, reaching for one.

“Did you know Maya’s not staying at The Inn?” Claire seems determined to find out who all knew before her.

“Finn just told me,” says Chloe. “Bummer for our brother.”

I sense a Russo-sister gang up. Must deflect. “Guess where she’s staying,” I say. They can’t stand it when I know something they don’t. I wait a beat and swallow. “Carlson’s houseboat.”

I expected Chloe’s dismissive shake of her head. She hates houseboats.

It’s Claire’s that’s not predictable.

She looks like she’s just seen a snake. To be clear: she doesn’t like snakes.

***

The afternoon is spent in Claire’s Cherokee Jeep, making house calls. Trying to fit what we might need into the back, I screw around with the tailgate and finally hear it click shut when I give it a hard slam. “Get that fixed, girl.”

“You seem to know how to talk to it.” She hops in the passenger side.

“Keys?”

“In the ignition.”

This does surprise me. “Does your head of security boyfriend know you leave the keys in the car?”

We stop by the farm off Willow Pond Road to check on the calf I delivered last night before we head out to check on two pregnant llamas and a buck who slashed his knee on a stretch of old barbed wire.

Llamas look like placid animals. It’s as if they’ve already been given a drug, and they don’t care about anything. Both females allow me to examine them without so much as a flinch. Hermie, the one with the torn knee, just keeps staring at me, chewing his cud, completely oblivious to the needle I’m sticking into his flesh over and over. Just as I finish, he coughs a dry hacking wad of something, and a foul spitball the size of a golf ball lands near my foot.

Finally, we’re done. I have to admit, my shoulders are pretty tight, and I’ve got shit down my pants from sitting on the stall floor while stitching Hermie’s knee.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got shit in my hair,” I tell Claire, climbing in to the Jeep.

“No, you don’t. It just always feels like you do.” Claire grins as she slides into the passenger seat. I check my phone before I step into the car. There are four messages from Maya.

“Change of plans. You’re driving,” I say. “Gotta make a call.”

I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point, my sisters—well, most of my sisters—started listening to me. Taking me seriously.

“Okay,” she says without question and comes around to the other side.