Page 5 of The Roads We Follow

“No,no,” I repeat while shaking my head, as if that action alone might force either the circumstances or the verdict to make sense.

Adele tips her head to the hallway and leaves the room. Ifollow her lead, lowering my voice when I say, “How did that happen? I didn’t know anything about a reschedule.”

When we stop, Adele studies me in a way that saysit’s-your-literal-job-to-know, Raegan. “The judge grantedhimthe full six weeks he requested this summer with the children, starting today since this is their usual weekend.” Adele almost never uses our ex-brother-in-law’s name in conversation. As far as she is concerned, Peter San Marco’s name, or Cheater Peter as I refer to him in my head, takes up far too much real estate in our lives as it is. Adele is still dealing with the scandal he caused nearly two years ago at Farrow Music Productions.

Adele’s gaze cuts to Hattie’s sleeping form in the den. “Imagine my surprise when I was minutes away from walking into a meeting with our legal team when my phone alerted me to Hattie’s location. I texted youandcalled, but it went straight to voicemail.” She searches my face. “Where were you this afternoon?”

“I took an hour to have coffee with a friend.” I keep my tone even as I supply an answer, but my heart is an erratic drumbeat in my chest. I push aside her clear frustration with me and instead process the injustice for my nephew Aiden and niece Annabelle. And then, with a clenched jaw, my sister Hattie. “How can he do this to her? She’s theirmother.” I’ve never come so close to hating anyone in all my life. “He can’t just ... he can’t just take them from her, can he? The longest they’ve spent apart is three nights, per their agreement.”

“I’m well aware of the previous arrangement, Raegan. I was the one working with her lawyers. Which is why I was shocked to discover she’d gone to the appeal hearing alone and represented herself. You and I both know she was nowhere near ready for something like that.” Adele sighs and straightens her skirt. “It appears the cheater struck a compromise the judge favored. He gets them for six weeks this summer, and in turn, Hattie will have the same schedule next summer.”

I shake my head. “But why is he so insistent on six weeks? They’re only eight and nine.”

Molten fury ignites my sister’s gaze. “Because he wants them to meet Francesca’s family in Greece.”

I open my mouth only to shut it again. There are no words for this kind of revulsion. Francesca is not only the twenty-something Cheater Peter left our sister for; she was also the top-grossing female artist at Farrow Music Productions right up until Peter—the former legal advisor at the label—amended Francesca’s contract to include an escape clause that allowed her to walk away without penalty not long after he walked out on his family.

Sympathy compresses my next breath as I think of the pain Hattie must be in tonight.

Once upon a time, Hattie was the life of the party, the one who planned events and holidays, family excursions, and weekly dinners at our folks’ estate. But that version of Hattie feels almost as foreign as the version we’d been introduced to after she married Peter San Marco.

“How is she?” I ask.

“Mama said she took an anti-anxiety pill the minute she walked through the door. She fell asleep here about twenty minutes later.”

I gawk at Adele. “But Hattie doesn’t like taking pharmaceuticals.”

“Yeah, well, she also doesn’t like having her kids taken away from her.”

There’s no argument for that.

We both crane our necks and peek in on her together. If Adele and I are unified on one thing, it’s our mutual disdain for Hattie’s ex and his manipulation skills for obtaining whatever he wants at any cost. If not for the surprise resurgence of “Crossing Bridges,” the family label would be in a world of trouble. Adele has been tight-lipped on the details, but I do know that shortly after she exposed Peter’s affair and fired him, Peter went public with outrageous claims regarding the mismanagement of our artists and the poor morale inside the studio. Naturally, he painted himself an innocent bystander-turned-hero instead of a con man. He sued Farrow Music Productions for wrongful termination and won. After that, Adeletightened everything that could be tightened. Finances. Personnel. Interviews. Nondisclosure agreements. Mama’s public appearances. And the choke hold on her two younger sisters.

Adele lowers her voice. “You and I need to discuss how these next six weeks will play out in order to keep Hattie out of the media.” She says this as ifdiscussis something we Farrow sisters do. Only, I can’t even recall the last time she invited me to be a part of any decision—much less the ones involving our family. “That goes for Mama, too. I need her to stay focused on her appearance at the Watershed Festival next month. She’s one of the main headliners on one of the biggest stages for country music. There’s a lot riding on her performances there for the label.”

I glance down the hall behind me. “WhereisMama? Is she home?”

“She left with Jana a few minutes before you showed up. I was on a work call when Jana dropped Hattie’s bags off, and the next thing I knew, Mama was saying something about needing to run a quick errand before the family meeting tonight.”

Though Jana is technically on Mama’s payroll as her house manager, she’s been more of an extension to our family than a Farrow employee. She was the one responsible for teaching me my alphabet and taking me to the library when my parents worked tirelessly to build the label and Mama’s career from the ground up.

My gaze catches again on the giant trash bags in Mama’s parlor.

“Are those bags filled with ... Hattie’s belongings?”

“Jana couldn’t find Hattie’s luggage set anywhere.” Adele shrugs absently. “So I told her to be resourceful and bring her stuff in whatever she could for now.”

“Jana didn’t need to do that. I can stay with Hattie until she gets settled into a routine at home and—”

“No.” Adele shakes her head. “We can’t risk that. Hattie doesn’t do well on her own; you know that. It’s best she stays here until the kids return. It will be easier for you to keep an eye on her if she’s across the hall. Maybe you two can find some hobbies to pass the time.” So this is how Adele planned to discuss Hattie’s next six weekswith me: by making all the plans and then informing me about them later.

It’s not that I’m not supportive of Hattie; I am—and I have been. But to just throw a live-in roommate on me without consideration to any plans of my own breeds a special kind of annoyance reserved for bossy older sisters.

“There is no amount of arts and crafts that’s going to distract her from missing her kids for six weeks, Adele.” I draw in a breath, then slowly let it out. “Plus, don’t you think six weeks is a long time for you to assume I have nothing else going on?”

She raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I checked the family calendar. Your schedule looked plenty open to me—is that not accurate?”

If there is one advancement in technology I wish I could go back in time and smite, it would be the invention of the shared family calendar. Iloatheit. And unlike Adele, who doesn’t get questioned about adding secret meetings without contact information, I get questioned about everything.

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