Sweet Forty-Two(39)

“If you don’t mind,” I walked around and sat on the swing, like a normal person, “I’ll sit like this.”

“I don’t concern myself with the flight of others, Regan.” Her eyes were closed again, and I felt awkward. Uncomfortable, as if I’d intruded on some ritual.

“Before you jumped down, you were standing with your hands out ... what was that about?”

She smirked, a hint of teeth showing on her right side. “Spying on me?”

“No, I—”

“Relax. I was stressed. I figured if headstands could help clear Ember’s mind, maybe a little yoga could clear mine.”

I pulled the elastic from my hair and retied my hair back into less of a mess. “So, what pose was that?”

“Fuck if I know. I was just trying it out.”

“You know, Ember might be willing to show—”

“Take it easy. I don’t even know if I like her.”

“You might. You were right about Willow, by the way.” I pumped my legs a little, thinking better of it after one stomach-dropping swing reminded me my stomach belonged to Jack Daniels this morning. “Apparently she tried to hook up with Bo.”

“Told you.”

“You did.”

“Did he do it?”

I laughed a little too loud for my liking.

“What?” she asked, pushing herself higher.

“No. He didn’t. He loves Ember. I haven’t asked Ember about it, but that was part of why she was so pissed off a couple of weeks ago.” I didn’t normally gossip, if that’s even what Georgia and I were doing, but it just kind of seemed natural.

Georgia sighed with a little groan tailing close behind.

“What?” I let my legs dangle as momentum carried me back and forth a few more times.

“Had I known Willow Shaw was involved in Ember’s attitude, I might have cut Ember some slack.”

I shrugged. “She didn’t really cut you any.” I thought briefly to Ember’s assumptions of Georgia, and CJ’s defensiveness.

“I don’t really give people a reason to think otherwise, Regan. It’s just ... it is what it is.” She shook her head and opened her eyes toward the sand.

More awkward silence.

“So,” I started after what felt like two very long minutes, “those muffins are for me?”

She turned and looked at me, squinting a little as the sun was behind me. “Yeah, I figured you’d need them to settle the assault on your stomach last night.”

“Oh God,” I winced, “did I throw up?”

“No,” she laughed, “but you drank more than I’ve seen you drink since I’ve known you.”

“I really have no memory of last night after saying hi to y—” I dug my heels into the sand as more unfortunate flashes from last night flickered through my brain. The envelope from David Bryson. The card from Rae. I looked to Georgia, who appeared to be studying my internal playback.

“Don’t worry, I have it.”

I covered my mouth, certain I really would throw up. “Did I open it?”

I would have remembered reading something from Rae, right?

Georgia raked her fingers through the cold sand, bringing herself to a stop before adjusting to a seated position on the swing. “No, you didn’t. In fact, you were going to leave it on the bar, but I put it in my bag.”

“Thank you.” Leaning forward, I took one deep breath and slowly stood.

“Come into the bakery with me,” Georgia said, leaping from her seat. “The muffins will be done in two minutes.”

“K.”

I couldn’t form thoughts. Still thoroughly hung over, with no recollection of last night, and no dreams to remember, I was left with the knowledge that somewhere in that building sat Rae’s last words to me. I assumed they were words, though I hadn’t opened the card, and wasn’t sure I had any intention of doing such a thing.

Halfway up a set of stairs I hadn’t seen on my way down, Georgia stopped and waited for me to catch up to her.

When she lifted her face, her eyes were misted over and her cheeks were pink. “I’m ... I’m sorry about Rae.” She extended her hand toward mine and gave it a small squeeze before letting go and resuming her hike up the crumbly stone steps.

Once at the top, while we waited for a few cars to pass, I asked, “What did I say about her?” My voice shook, and I knew it was less from dehydration of my body and more from the drought in my soul.

We crossed the street, and Georgia held open the door for me. “You told me she was Bo’s sister.”

“That’s all?”

Georgia smacked her lips together. “Yep. That’s it.”

“Then how did you ... why did you...”

“I Googled her. Her obituary was the first link I clicked.”

“Oh...” I wanted to know what she read, what she was thinking, all of it.

But, when I stepped into the bakery I’d fled a half hour ago when I thought Georgia was leaping into nothingness, I was knocked over by everything I’d missed in my haste.

I was thrust into a whimsical space that left me turning in a few circles, wondering how I’d missed it all in the first place. The walls were a pale blue, and booths lined with black and white diamond pattered fabric lined two adjoining walls. Above each of the six tables were chandeliers. Well, chandeliers in the sense that they were lights hanging down from the ceiling. The main light source came from what looked to be a small teapot, surrounded by four teacups that had smaller lights shining out of the bottom of their attached saucers.