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bring the Massiequin: yea or nay?”
    Bean barked once, and Massie nodded. “Ah-greed. We both know Kuh-laire could use her more than I could.” Massie made a check
     mark on the Smart Board she’d rolled in from her father’s office, which she was using to organize her move. So far, all it
     said was
Winter and Resort Wear
and
Stuff to Spruce Up Kuh-laire and Massie’s Bedroom
.
    The sounds of Ke$ha’s latest song rang out from somewhere on Massie’s bed, and she rifled through a pile of scarvesto find her iPhone. Dylan had programmed in the ringtone, declaring that Ke$ha was the only musician on today’s scene who
     “got” her energy. Massie thought all Ke$ha “got” was bad makeup advice.
    “Mass! Where have you been? You haven’t picked up in days!”
    “How was your trip? Was it ah-mazing?” Massie asked. As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Because now Dylan
     would have to ask a similar question in return—and Massie did
nawt
want to tell Dylan how her Christmas was going. In fact, she would need years of sessions with therapists and Scarlett Johansson’s
     acting coach before she’d be able to talk about this Christmas without crying.
    “It was good. I lost major water weight and mostly hung by the beach. You?”
    “Same,” Massie managed. “Without the beach part.”
    They were both silent. Massie searched for something to say but couldn’t think of a single topic. Everything on her mind was
     off-limits to everyone but Claire.
    “Question,” Dylan finally said. “Have you ever had a huh-
yuge
secret that you wanted to tell but couldn’t?”
    Massie felt like she’d swallowed a candy cane sideways. Had Dylan heard about her financial fallout? Were people talking about it? Did Merri-Lee want to run a riches-to-rags story
     on the Blocks?!
    “… Sometimes your family’s not enough. You need to talk about it with your friends, right?…”
    Dylan was still chattering on about secrets and lies but Massie could barely hear her anymore.
    “… What if someone accidentally blabs and word gets out…”
    “Hullo?” Massie blurted. “Dylan, can you hear me? Hullo?”
    “Yeah, I can hear you,” Dylan said. “Can you hear me?”
    “Hullo? Dyl? Are you there?”
    “Massie! I can hear you. Can you hear me?”
    “Dyl?”
    “Mass?”
    “Dyl?”
    “Mass!”
    “Ugh, AT&T.” Massie groaned and then hung up. Dylan had left her no choice. She was getting too close, no doubt searching
     for a confession.
    Massie collapsed on a Lanvin batwing cardigan that still had tags dangling from the label. She refused to look at the price.
     It would only make her cry.
    Kendra knocked on the open door.
    “If you’re not coming to shoot me, go away.”
    “Massie, I’d like you to meet Tamara Hardwood.”
    “Who?” Massie sat up.
    “Our realtor.” Kendra smiled apologetically at a well-preserved brunette in a fitted black blazer and matching skirt. “She
     was kind enough to stop by on the holiday weekend. Isn’t that so great of her?”
    Realtor?
    “It’s no biggie.” Tamara waved away the praise. “I’m Jewish.”
    Massie stood. The room seemed to tighten along with her throat. “Isn’t today the Sabbath?”
    “Oh, it’s okay. I’m not observant,” Tamara smiled widely.
    “Uh, clearly,” Massie murmur-muttered. If she was, she would have known Massie was talking about religion, not some random
     character trait.
    “I’m showing Tamara around the estate,” Kendra explained. Her eyes roamed across Massie’s room, landing on the boxes and clothes
     and stray boots littering every surface.
    “It’s such a spectacular home,” Tamara added. “And this room?
Gorge
.” Suddenly she was all business. “Before we list I’ll stage it, of course. Something in a warmer palette. White doesn’t exactly
     scream cozy.” She winked at Massie. And then to Kendra she said, “Don’t worry. A few coats of paint and the place will sell
     itself. Even in this bear