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said yes and that is good enough.” Ruth shrugged her shoulders, bony and thin under her black scoop-neck shirt.
    “There’s no chance Billy Wilkins will agree to do this,” Madelyn said, resisting the urge to pace. Ruth’s office was so small she’d probably only get dizzy. But she had a window, while Madelyn had the bigger office and no window. The two of them had rock, paper, scissored for the offices when they were both new.
    Don’t you remember that?
she wanted to howl.
    “You might be right,” Ruth said. “But it’s worth a shot.”
    Madelyn bit her tongue, her lip. God, she wanted a bag of chips right now. A big salty bag of potato chips, the kind with ridges. And dip. Oh, yes, sour cream dip like her mom used to make. She wanted a pound of that.
    “I thought we were friends.”
    Ruth seemed confused and Madelyn wondered if maybe she simply had the wrong idea about friendship. She never seemed to get it right. It was as if she thought she had a real banana in her hand and someone always had to point out that it was just a picture of one.
    “It’s business, Madelyn. Nothing personal.”
    Nothing personal? Oh my God, it was almost funny. Ruth had no idea what she was talking about. Because between Billy Wilkins and Maddy Baumgarten, it was all too personal.
    “Fine, but I’m not helping you. You want him. You get him.”
    She walked out, hoping that was enough. Hoping that the proud, selfish, childish boy she’d known was still living in that terrifying man she’d seen at Crooked Creek. Because the Billy she’d been married to would never agree to do this show.
    “We’ve talked about this before and the answer is still no.” Billy should have known that his best friend’s girlfriend had ulterior motives when she asked him to help her paint.
    “I never pegged you for a coward, Billy,” Tara Jean Sweet said as she cut the corners around the door with her white paintbrush.
    He didn’t dignify the insult with a response. Even if it was the stone-cold truth.
    Painting was not Tara Jean’s strong suit—there was white primer all over the trim, floor, her hands, her shirt—but she was gung-ho and Billy appreciated that.
    “I’m reminding you of your civic duty. You have to go.”
    “I gave you a bunch of money, and I’ll keep giving you money. You don’t need me at some fancy party.” Billy worked his way across the wall with his roller, trying to repair the worst of TJ’s mistakes.
    She threw her hands up, splattering primer across the floor. “Do I have to remind you that this school was your idea?”
    “No. You don’t. I’ve had the idea about the school for a long time, but that’s all it was—an idea. You’re the onewho went nuts and hired consultants and started working on charter applications and fund-raising stuff.”
    “Because it’s a great idea, and you’re a great advocate for it. For crying out loud, Billy, you convinced Luc and me to commit to a charter school with a sports focus. Over beers. Imagine what you could do in a room full of people ready to spend money.”
    Tara Jean was a sweetheart, but this determination she had to see the best of him was getting a little old. “No one will believe it, TJ. Me, funding a school? I’ll put people off.”
    “What bullshit.” She turned back around and started priming the wall with a vengeance. “You’re going. Like it or not. And you’re getting a new tux and because you’re being so dumb about all of this, I might even make you give a speech.”
    “TJ—”
    “Did it ever occur to you that Luc and I might need you there? As a friend. The foundation is new and we’ve never done anything like this before—”
    “Okay.” He held up the brush, knowing when he was beat. If she was going to play the friend-in-need card, he had no defense. “I’ll be there. Whatever you need.”
    She radiated pleasure. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
    Talk about a snow job. He rolled his eyes at her, just so she knew he was on