Sal laughs.
Soon, the circle expands. They’re joined by Emmy Lou and Mort’s wife, Martha. Every five minutes, Sal can’t help glancing over her shoulder to make eye contact with Luke, who’s surrounded by Mort and the boys. When he meets her eyes, she can’t stop the goopy smile that spreads across her face. She misses him. It’s stupid, but she does. They’re only feet from each other, and yet she can’t bear to be apart.
He’s been her rock since this all happened. She doesn’t know what she’d do without him.
Needing another glass of champagne, Sal steps away to the bar. It’s at the edge of the party, beneath a cool sycamore tree.
“Sal?”
She glances over.
A woman with cascading red hair is approaching her. Sal gives her a smile, and nervously, the redhead steps forward. “Hi, Sal. I’m Alabama Forester.”
Sal’s ears perk at the name. She recognizes it from the Nashville Star magazines she’s read in her therapist’s office. The tabloid bills her Nashville’s pop-country princess, and she sure as hell looks it. The country singer’s stunning. Tall and leggy with sky-high heels and a breezy drawl.
“Hi.” Sal angles her head. “I’m sorry. Are we friends?” She taps her temple. “As you’ve probably heard, I’m a little fuzzy in that department.”
Alabama’s smile is sympathetic. “No. Not exactly.” Her gray eyes dart around the party before settling back on Sal. “Luke and I did a song together a while back ...”
“You did?” Sal says, slightly bewildered. “He didn’t tell me that.”
“That’s because he hated the song.” Alabama chuckles. “And he was right. It wasn’t exactly great. Or good. Everything we did wasn’t good,” she adds dryly.
Sal frowns. “Are you talking about you and Luke?”
“I’m sorry.” Alabama shakes her head, violently, as if she’s angry with herself. She extends a hand. “I’m not doing this right. I just wanted to see how you were copin’ with everything.”
Confusion washes over Sal. Her stomach burbles with anger and anxiety. It’s too much. Dozens of strange faces, their eyes all asking if she remembers, if her brain works.
Is that why they’re all here?she thinks, suddenly feeling very small and very lost. They’ve come to gawk at the medical anomaly that is Sal Kincaid?
Still, she draws herself up and crosses her arms, refusing to give this woman what she wants. “I’m not sure what you mean. Everything?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sal sees Seth making a break for them. Hustling over like a linebacker ready to intercept.
Then Lacey, her face red, steps in. “She means to mind her own business is what.” The glare she gives Alabama could rival a nuclear blast. “You need to go. Who invited you anyway?” she snaps, her words icy.
Alabama flushes and draws back.
Sal shakes her head. “Lace. It’s fine.” Though she’s riled up, she’s not angry enough to sic Lacey on the woman.
Lacey grabs her hand. “It’s not fine, Sal. C’mon.”
As Lacey drags Sal away, she mutters “stupid bitch” under her breath. The closest Sal’s ever heard her come to breaking her prim and proper facade.
When they’re out of earshot, Sal asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Sal rubs her temple as silence falls over them. The smallest twinge of a migraine brews on the horizon.
“Are you alright?” Lacey bites her lip. “You look pale.”
Sal arches a brow. “Pale means tired, and as the birthday girl, I take that as a personal affront.”
Lacey laughs, but it’s more of a grimace. She steps close to Sal, as close as she can get in her puff of a party dress, and tucks a lock of hair behind Sal’s ear. “I know you’re sick of all the love and obsessive worry, and you can get as cranky as you want, but I hate to tell you we will not be stopping anytime soon.”
Sal hugs her sister, loving her. Loving what they have even though Sal has only known her for a month. Lacey isn’t easy, but it’s easy with Lacey.