“Uh yeah, because Amber hasn’t unleashed the kraken yet. Do you know how fucked we are?”

“She’s doing really well,” I said defensively.

“Yeah? And you think she’s going to do well for the whole time we have to work with that guy? She’s gonna burn his fucking house down and we’re gonna be left there with the garden hose. This is my nightmare,” she whispered. “Med Surg, Amber, and this?”

“I’ll talk to her,” I said. “When we get back.”

“Good. Make her leave. He’ll be upset for a bit, but it’s better than the alternative. Just tear off the Band-Aid.”

“Yeah.”

But I knew Maddy was right. We were fucked.

CHAPTER 14 EMMA

After work, I rang the bell to the mansion and stood there fidgeting. Mom hadn’t answered a single text all day.

Maddy was in the pontoon on the dock, playing games on her phone waiting for me. She’d sent me like an ambassador for Rust Water Cottage to try to convince Mom to leave.

It was never going to happen. I knew this. But Maddy wouldn’t let it go unless I tried—and really, I should try. Maddy was right, this whole situation was a ticking time bomb.

I had this sinking, sickly feeling of being out of control. A gnawing anxiety of what was to come. Mom always made me feel like this, I realized. When she was here, when she wasn’t here. A gaping, bottomless impending feeling of doom.

I rang the bell again in quick succession. A few seconds later I heard a bolt lock turn and when the door finally opened, it was Maria.

“Hi, is my—”

“You here for your madre?” she said, annoyed. She pushed the door open and stood with her arms crossed while I peered past her into the house.

The door opened to a large vestibule, and beyond that was a spacious living room. Huge vaulted ceilings, white sofas, a shiny black baby grand piano—and Mom, on a ten-foot ladder with her back to us… painting a wall?

I blinked at her. “What—Mom, what are you doing?” I called.

“She can’t hear you,” Maria said. “She has to have music for inspiration.” She put her fingers in quotes. “Ésta casa se está yendo a la mierda,” she mumbled. “Already like she owns the place.” She threw up a hand. “Well? Come in.”

I walked into the house.

Mom stood at the top of the ladder barefoot in denim capris. She wore a men’s button-down shirt knotted in the middle with the sleeves rolled up, probably Neil’s. It was too big to be hers. Her long hair was tied back into a red bandana. Half a dozen brushes and paint cans sat open and scattered on a clear plastic sheeting under the ladder. I was practically underneath her before she spotted me. “Emma!” She pulled out her earbuds. “You’re back!”

She set her brush on top of the paint can she was using and started down the ladder. “I’ve been waiting all day. What do you think?” She gestured to the mural she was working on, beaming.

I peered up at it. Large colorful roses. It was a whimsical design. Bold and beautiful.

Mom had always been artistic. I remembered the time she did face painting at a Renaissance fair for a few weeks when I was ten. She’d paint my face first and then let me run loose for the rest of the day to watch the roving performers and pet baby goats in the petting zoo. It was one of the best summers of my life.

This summer was up for debate.

“It’s nice,” I said, watching her climb down. “But is Neil okay with you doing this to his wall?”

She got to the bottom rung and hopped off. “Who do you think paid for the paint? I pitched the idea to him this morning and he loved it.” She put her hands on her hips and looked up at it. “I mean of course he did, look at this place, it’s like living in an asylum. All this white, it’s depressing. I’m going to do the whole wall, top to bottom, first thing you see when you come in. It’s going to change his life, completely different energy.”

I studied her while she studied her work. She looked good. Her makeup was done, she seemed rested. She seemed happy. The light scent of her rose perfume reached my nose like a gentle whisper telling me to relax.

She snapped her fingers and turned back to me. “Oh!” she said, like she just remembered something. “Come with me to the kitchen. I got you something.”

She grabbed me by the hands and walked backward a few steps before turning to lead me through the house. I followed in the wake of her perfume, peering around. The home was enormous. And she was right, it was white—and stark and slate and cold. It was all very… surgical.

“This is old money,” she whispered, nodding at an expensive-looking vase on a pedestal. “It just feels different, right? Sort of regal.”

“He lives here alone?” I asked.

“I think so. Well, Maria has a room somewhere, but that’s it.” She looked over her shoulder and gave me a wry look. “Did I tell you what he does? A surgeon.”

“Uh, I know. I work with him at Royaume.”

Mom stopped to gawk at me. “What?” She paused for a dramatic moment. Then she burst into sparkling laughter. “Well, I guess it’s nice I’m showing him a good time then!”

“Mom, I have to talk to you about that—”

“About what?” She cocked her head.

“I just… he’s our landlord and Maddy and I have to work with him and—”

“And?” She blinked at me innocently.

“It just… it feels like a conflict of interest for you to get involved with him.” I hoped it came out diplomatically. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I also needed her to understand the stakes.

Her expression turned amused. “Emma, we are two grown adults. What does it even have to do with you?”

I licked my lips. “Things don’t tend to end well with you and men. I can’t afford for this to implode. Please.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sweetheart, I know that in the past I’ve picked some winners. Believe me, I know. But this guy is different. He’s good at his job, he’s got all these awards everywhere. He owns things, no criminal record, he’s sweet, and he goes to therapy—”

“He goes to therapy?”

“Yeah. He’s really focused on self-improvement. Our therapists sound a lot alike actually.”

I blinked at her. “You have a therapist?”

“Yeah, I told you.”

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t.”

“I’ve been going for like two years now. It’s virtual.”

I shifted on my feet. “Well… well what do they say?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of stuff. She’s expensive as hell. Insurance won’t cover a dime. But I haven’t missed one session.”