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laugh at my unabashed bitchiness. Then I brought her a tissue and one of my raspberry teas. I listened to the whole story without interrupting or pointing out her obvious mistakes in dealing with men. I knew, at least, that was a huge no-no. But being the wind beneath someone’s wings was so not my thing. And what Jayne didn’t realize at the time—and never seemed to put two and two together—was that I needed her to help me wrap up the issue we were working on.
    So I pretended to be someone else, the kind of girl that knows exactly what to say to another girl in times like that. After a mini-pep talk in which I praised her wardrobe and gorgeous skin, she was on the mend and on team Emma. Most things really do seem to happen for a reason, because I think I needed Jayne just as much as she needed me. Because somewhere along the line, I never learned about the importance of having close girlfriends. I’d always gotten along so much better with guys. Even Howard and I hit it off right from the start. Becoming friends with his sister was more out of convenience, I was starting to realize.
    “Good for you. Well, have fun, Jaynie.”
    “Oh, my God, you should see Guy right now. He’s up there singing Prince. You know that Kiss song? Damn, he’s so adorable.”
    “How embarrassing.” I pictured him belting out that high-pitched song and making kissing noises to the crowd.
    “No, everyone’s loving him. He’s so bad, but they love him.”
    “Go figure. Well, I gotta go. Pop’s calling me.”
    “Bye, sweetie,” she said before hanging up.
    “I am?” Pop’s voice came from behind me.
    I spun around to find him standing in the doorway, staring at me with a suspicious grin. My precious Pop, who tried to be both a father and a mother to a confused and sometimes distant little girl. Whose shirt sleeve dried hundreds of my tears growing up, whose advice turned out to be surprisingly accurate. After mom died and Pop moved in with us, Dad took that to mean he was taking over instead of helping out. I actually felt sorry for Pop that he had to deal with me. It’s not that I was too much trouble, because I wasn’t. I was just there. He never made me feel like that, but I figured most men wouldn’t want to take on being a parent in their early fifties.
    “Hey, Pop. Game started yet?”
    “No. But I kind of sensed you were hanging around because you wanted to talk to me. Is everything okay?”
    I hesitated, and Pop put his arm around my shoulders. There’s something to be said for the blue-collar worker. Pop never sat behind a desk in his life. Even after retiring, he still found ways to do physical work. At six foot one, he resembled a slightly younger Clint Eastwood. I sank into his solid embrace and rested my head on his shoulder.
    “Sometimes I just get tired, Pop.”
    “Well, that’s what happens when you’re running a race, Emma Jean.” Pop chuckled. “You’re bound to get outta breath sometime.”
    “You’re the one who always told me to go after what I want.”
    “You sure did that, didn’t ya?”
    “Please, Pop.” I broke from him and sat on the edge of the bed.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting across from me in a chair. “So, what’s going on with this new guy you were telling me about?”
    “Guy.”
    “Yeah, the new guy.” He nodded impatiently.
    “No, Pop. That’s his name. Guy.”
    “Oh, well, shoot. So what’s the problem?”
    “I don’t know. He’ll have access to a lot of information ....”
    “You worried he’s gonna go snooping into your business?”
    “At first I was really worried about it. But now, I’m pretty sure he’ll be so busy fixing Marty’s mess and getting our system upgraded, he probably won’t have time for much else. I just wish….”
    “You could turn back the clock?”
    I nodded and looked down at my hands. Mental note: change this hideous nail color.
    Pop reached over and nudged my chin up. “Listen to me, Missy. There’s not one person on this