I take a seat on her chair. Our fingers interlock just like they always did when we would huddle together as kids and whisper our deepest secrets to each other. “I will be on your doorstep the second you go into labor, but I am never anyone’s third wheel.”
Her face falls and I swear she takes my heart with her. I know she only wants to help but I can’t burden her with my problems when she needs to focus on her young family.
“I got this. Promise. Okay?” I’m not so sure it’s not pride doing the talking here, but I’m not down yet. I still have some options lined up and some interviews with a few law firms out west who haven’t heard of my name and the scandal attached to it. I have food and a roof. It will have to do until I can rebuild.
“I’ll call you tonight, okay?” I press a quick kiss to her cheek and rub her bulging belly. “For good luck,” I tease with a wink and gather my beach tote.
She grabs for me again and I stop. “You can’t go to his house. Not alone. Let me send some men with you if that is where you are headed. You don’t need to clean out his house all alone.”
My father’s house sits about a quarter of a mile from here and is the last possession he left on this earth. Frankly, I am surprised no one has tried to take it with all the lingering debts that man left behind when his liver finally gave out three months ago.
“I’m not. Now stop worrying about me.” I bend and hug her tight. Friends are scarce and friends who worry about you even more so. “I’m okay, babe,” I promise her yet again. “Keep your phone close.”
She nods, grabbing another pickle from the jar. Bless her.
“Do you want me to walk you to the house before I head out?”
“Nah, I’m going to get a few more minutes of peace before the dinner feeding frenzy starts.”
I leave my friend on the beach with the promise to call tonight and make my way out to the street through a side gate. Though I said no, now her worry has me wondering if I should swing by my father’s. I could pack up a few more boxes. Getting the high-end house on the market would pay for my move west if it all pans out with the interviews and I’m tired of putting it off.
“Ms. March?” My mental rambling screeches to a halt as I latch Serenity’s side gate.
“Yes?” I turn at the sound of my name on a man’s lips and then the sunshine and coconut-scented sunscreen is erased with the smell of something sickly sweet.