At this, a flurry of little hearts rose on the screen.
Noelle rolled her eyes offscreen at Miriam’s Revolution Barbie act, but she was impressed. She didn’t know anyone else who could channel all their panic and pain into a performance like this, making everyone feel like they were the only one being talked to. She’d called Miriam a coward, but what she was doing right now took a hell of a lot of spine.
She whispered to Cole, “Do they really call their get-togethers ‘Bloom Togethers’?”
Cole snorted. “It was my idea, but I swear, I was kidding when I said it. I did not know they were going to run with it. Miriam makes sure they don’t start calling themselves a ‘tribe’ or anything that approaches ‘namaste,’ but there are still a lot of middle-class white ladies in the Bloomers, and they have to let that energy out somehow.”
In front of the camera, Miriam’s spiel didn’t miss a beat. “Tonight, I’m giving y’all a sneak peek at the Miriam Blum originals that will be available via web auction all night on New Year’s Eve. This is a great opportunity to buy some earlier pieces you may never have seen before, some new custom pieces I’m making exclusively for this auction, and maybe get a great deal on a piece you couldn’t normally afford. But remember, the fate of my family farm is in your hands, including a lot of people’s jobs and health insurance, so open your hearts and your wallets.
“I know some of you are making travel plans to be here and y’all—” Her voice cracked, as the Blum Again persona slipped and the real, scared Miriam shone through.
Noelle felt the strong impulse to gather Miriam up, build them both a blanket fort, and let her find some space to deal with everything that had happened. She shook her head, trying to clear it. That wasn’t fair, to herself or Miriam. She’d ignored her own judgment and given in to Miriam’s magnetic draw once, and it had turned out exactly the way she’d feared: Miriam had gotten spooked and done what she always did—or tried to, anyway, even if she hadn’t gotten very far.
Noelle wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Maybe the old ladies had been right, and she couldn’t use Carrigan’s and sobriety as an excuse to avoid dating forever, but that didn’t mean Miriam was the right person at the right time.
No matter what Noelle’s heart said.
The sound of Miriam’s voice penetrated her thinking and made her want to listen to nothing else, forever. But Miriam was still talking to the Bloomers, still wearing that practiced mask that didn’t let anyone close.
“I cannot even believe the lengths to which you will go as a community to support me and mine,” she was saying. “I love you allsomuch, and I can’t wait to see you up at Carrigan’s. I’ll be doing special tours for any Bloomer who makes it up here on such late notice, and we’ll have a Bloomer Breakfast on New Year’s Day, complete with Rosenstein’s breakfast pastries and Mrs. Matthews’s famous coffee.”
Miriam was known among her fans for being private. For her to open up her family home to special tours, one-on-one time, and a Bloom Together breakfast was unprecedented, and many fans were throwing out their New Year’s Eve plans to book last-minute flights to New York.
“Ride or die Carrigan’s!” Miriam said, signing off.
“Ride or die Carrigan’s,” Noelle repeated wryly. She wished she could believe that Miriam actually felt that way, and it wasn’t just a cute catchphrase. “We should put that on a T-shirt. I bet the Bloomers would buy them.”
“I’ll be right back,” Cole said, startling her. She’d forgotten he was standing there. “Gonna call my T-shirt guy.”
With two days before the event, the barn had become a sparkly, shining gala venue. Hannah and Miriam had their heads together in Hannah’s office, printing pamphlets to advertise Carrigan’s All Year, selling family reunions and girls weekends. Cole had been pushing the event across social media, reaching out to his parents’ contacts with more money than they knew what to do with. Even Tara, when she saw the hype on Twitter, offered to get her network watching.
Everyone had a job to make this auction a success—this auction that had been Noelle’s idea—except for Noelle. She didn’t know anyone with money; most of her friends were broke alcoholics. She didn’t think the party needed bad coffee and dirty jokes, which was their primary skill set. No one needed Christmas trees, except the ones she’d already grown. Miriam was working herself to the bone, as if she somehow thought she could fix all this if she just never sat still (whatwasit with the Rosenstein girls?), and Noelle couldn’t step in to make her rest, because that wasn’t her place anymore. So she hauled things for Mr. Matthews, kept everyone caffeinated, and tried to talk Cole out of bad decisions.
“Okay,” he began, bursting into her room that afternoon, “I know Elijah vetoed the assassin thing but I don’t think we can take killing Richard Blum off the table.”
“Look, we all want to do him bodily harm,” Noelle agreed, “and I have more right to be angry than anyone. He’s trying to take my life’s work away. He broke the girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with—”
Cole started to interrupt, and she held out a hand.
“Do not tell her I said that, and I’m not going to talk about it with you. What’s important is that Miriam is entirely capable of winning this fight. We need to give her the chance to be in the lead on this. So we will provide the help she’s asked for, and no help she has not asked for. Including assassins.”
Noelle understood how Cole felt, the fierce protectiveness, the urge to hurt anyone who hurt Miriam. Except she’d hurt Miriam, too. Was hurting her right now. But she couldn’t stop herself from rooting for Miriam, wanting to see what she could do when she fully came into her own. She did think Miriam could win this fight, and any other one she chose.
So why, a little voice asked inside her, wasn’t she giving Miriam a chance to fight forthem?
Cole scowled. “I just want to be doing something to take him down.”
“You are doing something, Cole,” Noelle said, patting his hand. “You’re doing whatever Miriam tells you to do.”
She felt good about the decision not to ruin Richard Blum’s life, until she found Miriam sitting on the floor in the library, curled up and crying. She knelt, and Miriam looked up at her with puffy eyes and mascara running down her cheeks.
“What happened?” she asked, unable to stifle her impulse to protect this woman, no matter what they were to each other right now. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I got an email from GoFundMe customer service,” Miriam said. “Someone reported us for fraud, and they are shutting us down while they investigate. We’ll get the money eventually,” she breathed raggedly, squeezing her eyes shut, “but not by the first. And we can’t raise any more while they investigate.”
“Richard?” Noelle asked, feeling her blood pressure skyrocket.
“Who else?”