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she’d been everyone’s favorite. Sarah was that lucky girl who’d been born beautiful and grew up into an even more stunning woman. Tall, slim, golden, she didn’t favor her sisters. No red or auburn hair for her. No freckles. No pale skin that wouldn’t tan. Sarah was decadent. She shimmered through life, all amber, honey, and bronze. Tommy had once teased her that she was sopretty she must have had a different father, and Dad had rolled his eyes, but Sarah had cried.
    “How can she leave us?” Sarah whispered, her voice pitched low. “I need her, Kit. I need her more now than ever and yet Boone won’t let me talk about it. The kids won’t let me talk about it. Somebody has to let me talk about it. Somebody—”
    “You can talk to me,” Kit said, knowing she’d once been a good listener, and the family peacemaker. But lately, she wasn’t as patient, or as tolerant, as she used to be. Lately, she didn’t enjoy endless discussions and pointless conversation. How could she, when they would all soon lose Mom? “And you should talk about Mom. There’s no shame in that, Sarah.”
    “Thank you.” She hiccuped on the other end of the line. “And I’m sorry about jumping on you.”
    “It’s okay.”
    “No, it’s not. I’m just so mad. And sad. I want to be there in California. I want to be close to her, like you and Meg are. Instead I’m stuck here in Florida, with another season of baseball about to start. I hate it. I’m so over baseball running our lives, ruling our lives. And now I’m planning a cruise Mom might not even be able to go on.” Sarah’s voice was hoarse. “Earlier today the travel agent asked if we wanted travel insurance for the five cabins in case something came up and an emergency interrupted our trip, and I just lost it. Had to hang up. Because we do need the insurance, but let’s face it, all the insurance in the world won’t matter if she’s gone.”
    K it was back in her classroom early the next morning even though it seemed like she’d only just left. Sometimes she felt as if she lived at Memorial High School, and the teacher staff room was her sanctuary.
    She was in the staff room now with Polly and Fiona during the brief morning break between third and fourth periods. It was their daily ritual. Five minutes to rush in to the staff room, exchange quick greetings while Kit refilled her coffee cup and Polly zapped her green tea and Fiona turned on the kettle for yet another cup of Irish Breakfast tea.
    “I have a terrible headache,” Polly said, opening the microwave to retrieve her steaming cup.
    “Need Advil?” Kit offered.
    Polly shook her head. “Already took some a half hour ago. Just need them to kick in.”
    Kit glanced at Fiona, who was unusually quiet this morning. “You okay?”
    “Fine.”
    But Fiona didn’t sound fine. She looked blue. “How did it go last night when you got home?” Kit asked her.
    “Not so good,” Fiona answered, turning off the white kettle and filling her cup with boiling water. “Chase was distant. Barely said two words to me. I think he was upset that I’d stayed out so long.”
    “But you were home by six-thirty—”
    “I know. But I should have called him, warned him. He thought I was just out pouting.”
    Kit tried not to take sides, but she’d had it with Chase right now. “I think he’s being a little hard on you.”
    “A little?” Polly snorted and then winced. “God, that hurt. But honestly, Fiona, if he doesn’t want you avoiding going home, then he might want to make it more pleasant for you
at
home.”
    The warning bell rang, and as Kit headed back to her classroom, keys jingling in her hand, it crossed her mind yet again that maybe she was lucky. Lucky to be single. Lucky to have no one at home waiting for her, angry with her, demanding an accountingof where she’d been and who she’d been with. Because at forty, she didn’t feel like answering to anyone anymore. She was an adult. Mature. Responsible.