Page 2 of Battle of the Exes

Almost Ready for Chicken Pot Pie

It’s letters like this that keep me in business.

I’m typing,How to tell the difference between affectionate and psychotic poultry behavior, when my phone buzzes.

“Hey, Rue!” I say, seeing my sister’s name pop up on my screen.

“How’s my big city big sister?”

Rue and I are as close as can be, though not in the geographic sense. Colorado is a long way from here.

I hear a television on in the background and picture her on the couch of her house in Silver Pine, spring snow clinging to the rocky peaks in the distance. From the sound of it, Rue’s fifteen-year-old daughter Lulu is glued to a realityshow.

“Great,” I say, scrolling through a site about unique methods for stress management. “Just working. How’s Gary and Lu?”

“Everyone’s fine.”

She doesn’t sound fine.

A flicker of worry. “What’s wrong?”

“I need help.”

“Now, there’s an understatement.” I laugh hoping I’m reading this wrong. “You asked for that one.”

No reply.

“Rue?”

Her tone is sobering. “It’s the Quill.”

She means our family’s bookshop, The Silver Quill.

“What about it?”

“Remember I told you about the new landlords?”

I have a vague memory of her mentioning something about it several months ago. I wait.

“The lease came due, and, well, they upped the rent.”

“That’s to be expected?—”

“By 200%.”

“What?”I’m quickly doing the math in my head. “That’s obscene.”

“It’s also legal. Besides, I checked and they can get much more than what we’ve been paying.” Then, “We don’t have the money.”

I’m stunned. “When did you find out about this? Maybe we can still negotiate.”

“A couple of months ago.”

“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t think there was anything you could do from New York, Ivy.”

I watch a plane in the distance, heading west, a trail of white streaks in its wake.

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