“Crap.” Frankie sprang off the sofa so fast the book thudded to the floor. Eva’s eyes hadn’t been red because of the mask. They were red because she’d been crying.
Moments later she was hammering on Eva’s door.
This time it took longer for Eva to answer. The face mask was gone but her eyes were still red. “What’s wrong?”
Frankie wanted to say that nothing was wrong with her, but stopped herself. Eva was selfless and giving and was unlikely to put her own needs first. “You invited me in.”
“You hate romantic movies.”
“We can talk. I feel like talking.”
“What about?”
“Stuff—” Frankie floundered. “Problems,” she said vaguely and Eva looked confused.
“You hate talking about your problems. You bottle them up, boil, simmer, kick things around the room. Then you attack them like Boudicca repelling an invading army.”
“Yeah, well, tonight I’m trying a new approach.” Frankie shoved her way through the door and saw Eva’s clothes strewn over every available surface in a rainbow of pastel colors and sparkle. “Oh my—were you burgled?”
“No.”
“Someone emptied out your drawers.”
“That was me. I was looking for my peach silk scarf.”
“Did you find it?” Frankie eyed the piles of clothes, knowing she’d never find anything in that mess. How did one person ever get to wear all of that?
“I think Paige might have borrowed it.”
“And you criticize my clothes.”
“The clothes themselves, not the way you store them.”
“You appear to be using the floor
as storage. Do you want help sorting through this stuff? We could hold a yard sale and give the proceeds to damaged cats or something.”
“I’m doing enough for damaged cats by tolerating Claws despite her temper issues, and anyway, everything you see here has importance and meaning. I don’t want to get rid of any of it. There isn’t a single piece here I don’t love.”
“Seriously? What about this—” Frankie snatched up a green knitted sweater. “I’ve never seen you wear it.”
“Gran knitted that.” Eva’s eyes filled and she plopped down onto the sofa, ignoring the pile of clothes. “Sorry. Ignore me.”
“I’m the one who should be saying sorry.” Horrified, Frankie folded the sweater carefully and sat down next to Eva. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’m clumsy and stupid and Paige will kill me for upsetting you.”
“It’s not you, it’s me. This happens. And it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. What can I do? Do you need a glass of water? A hug?” Frankie patted Eva’s shoulder awkwardly and felt a rush of frustration. Why was she so hopeless in these situations? “Talk to me, Ev.”
“It’s just a bad moment, that’s all. It will pass. I’ll get through it. I’m using you as my role model.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You and Paige are the strongest people I know. You’ve both handled serious crap in your lives and carried on. I’m trying to be more like you and less marshmallow.”
“You don’t want to be like me. I’m a mess.” Frankie pulled at a peach scarf that was half-hidden under one of the cushions. “Is this what you were looking for?”
“Yes! And I think you’re amazing.” Eva blew her nose. “You’re so independent. So strong and together. You’re inspiring and brave.”