Page 30 of Every Good Thing
Everyone huffs and shrugs.
“No one has.” Cherry holds up her phone. “Your weird neighbor started a group text. For the friends and family of Lena Buckley-Wright—there’s been an accident. She’s been updating everyone on your condition. I have to hand it to her—she’s thorough. How did she get my number? And your brother Lucas’s? And twenty-four others? How many friends does she think you have?”
I check my phone. Still nothing but a text from Millie saying not to worry about the cupcakes. “Why didn’t Alice include me?”
“Didn’t want to bother you, babe,” Dot says. “She’s organized a team to help at Saddletree with cleanup and the support groups tonight. Maybe she should be your manager, eh?”
I roll my eyes but can’t argue.
Cherry sighs, scanning her phone again. “Can’t you track Ben on your phone?”
“No, why would I?”
She scoffs. “Tracking apps keep men honest. Wish I’d had one on Warren. Could’ve saved myself a few years, at least. If only they made tracking apps for penises.”
“Cherry!” I scold in a hushed tone while turning the TV volume up on Spongebob for Ruthie.
“Like an activity tracker?” Dot asks curiously.
“Precisely. It’d send alerts whenever it entered restricted territory. A man-tivity tracker.”
“Penis-dar,” Dot offers. “That’d make bank.”
Cherry puts her finger up. “It could truly make a better world, knowing what all the penises are up to—”
“Not another word about that,” I spit through gritted teeth, eyeing Ruthie’s distraction level. Spongebob is doing his job, thankfully.
Cherry smirks. “Sorry, Lena. Just trying to keep things light.”
“Yeah, besides, you wouldn’t need that app for Ben. He’s already honest. He’ll be here,” Dot assures us.
I relax somewhat. Cherry always defaults to distrust, anyway. I don’t envy her ongoing experiences with her cheating ex. She still sees him at parties and business events, sometimes with his former mistress, Olive. Sometimes, with someone else. It’s hard to heal when you’re continuously exposed to the one who hurt you. Though she won’t admit it, Cherry still feels broken from having her heart bashed into roadkill by that asshole. She won’t be comfortable enough to love someone else anytime soon, if ever again.
“Dot’s right,” I say, trying to call him again. “He’s just… I don’t know.”
“Daddy had a meeting,” Ruthie shares incidentally as she leans against my pillow to watch Spongebob.
“What meeting?” I ask.
Ruthie’s shoulders bounce. “I dunno.”
“How do you know he had a meeting?” I try, squeezing her against me.
“He dressed nice. In his suit.” She giggles. “Jeremiah got glue on it this morning.”
Worry pecks at me again, like a bird rooting in the ground, hunting for worms.
“Sounds suspicious,” Cherry says, one brow cocked high on her forehead.
“Everything sounds suspicious to you,” Dot returns.
“I’m a realist,” Cherry defends, but her doll-like face softens when our eyes meet. “But we’re talking about Ben here. It’s nothing, I’m sure. He’s got the least game of any man I’ve ever met.”
I gape. “He’s got some game.”
“Must save it all for you, Lena, babe,” Dot grins.
Cherry huffs. “He probably had an important meeting and silenced his phone.”
