Page 83 of The Last Mrs. Parrish

“She has no one here. And she’s my best friend.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my lips. Was she? I hadn’t had one for years. It’s impossible to be close to someone when you’re living a lie. All my relationships, except for the ones with my children, were superficial by necessity. But with Amber, I felt a bond that no one else could understand. As much as I loved Meredith, she couldn’t relate to how I felt losing my sister.

“Your best friend? You may as well say Margarita’s your best friend. She’s a nothing.”

I corrected myself. “Of course, you’re right. That’s not what I meant. I meant she’s the one person who understands what I’ve been through. I feel like I owe her something. Besides, she always says how welcome you make her feel and how much she admires you.”

That mollified him. For a man so smart, you’d think he would have seen through it. But that was the thing with Jackson: he always wanted to believe that everyone adored him.

So she’d come, and itwasnice to have a friend. To watch Jackson interact with her, you would never know how he truly felt. When she arrived, he gave her a big smile and embrace.

“Welcome. So glad you could come.”

She smiled shyly and murmured a thank-you.

“Let me get you a drink. What’ll you have?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

“Come on, Amber. You’re going to need it to get through the day.” He gave her a dazzling smile. “You like Cabs, right?”

She nodded.

“Be right back.”

“Where can I put my gift?” she asked me.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s just a little something I thought she would like.”

Later, when Tallulah was opening her gifts, I watched with interest as she came to Amber’s present. It was a book on the life of Edgar Allan Poe.

Tallulah looked over and gave her a subdued thank-you.

“I remembered you were reading his stories that day in New York,” Amber called over to her.

“Isn’t she a bit young for Poe?” my mother asked within Amber’s earshot, never one to hold back.

“Tallulah’s very advanced for her age. She’s reading at an eighth-grade level,” I said.

“There’s a difference between intellectual development and emotional development,” my mother pointed out.

Amber said nothing, merely looked at the ground, and I felt torn between defending her and validating my mother’s concerns.

“I’ll look it over, and if you’re right, I’ll put it aside until she’s older.” I smiled at my mother.

I looked up to see Surrey running to retrieve some presents that were scattered on the floor.

“Good heavens, what is going on?” my mother asked.

“Bella threw them from the pile,” Amber said.

“What?” I ran over to see what had happened.

Bella was standing in front of the table, hands on her hips, her bottom lip stuck out as far as it would go.

“Bella, what’s wrong?”

“It’s not fair. She gets all these presents, and no one brought me anything.”

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