Page 2 of The Couple's Secret
Other times, life changed so slowly you didn’t even realize it was happening until your home was filled with warmth and laughter and delicious smells and a found family so strange it sounded like the premise of a trashy nineties talk show.
“Don’t gloat.” Misty Derossi turned away from the counter, pointing a whisk in the direction of the table, where Harris was ensconced on the lap of one of their other guests. “It’s not polite.”
Trout was seated near Misty’s feet, his ears two perfect steeples. His soulful brown eyes tracked every minute movement of the whisk like his life depended on it.
“Mo-om,” Harris complained, hopping down. “It’s not gloating if I won seventeen times.”
What seemed like twenty lifetimes ago, Josie had been married to her high school sweetheart, Ray Quinn. After their marriage fell apart, he’d started seeing Misty. Initially, Josie had been so consumed with jealousy and hurt that she’d treated Misty horribly.
Then Ray died and it turned out Misty was pregnant with his child. A set of bizarre and dangerous circumstances forced the two women together, and the moment Josie held little Harris in her arms, she knew she would give her own life to protect him.
Harris snatched a piece of paper from the kitchen table and brandished it at his mother. “I’m the tic-tac-toe champion!”
Now, Misty was one of Josie and her husband Noah’s best friends and Harris called them Aunt JoJo and Uncle Noah.
“It was fifteen times.” Erica Slater shifted in her chair, arching a brow at her little rival. “We played seventeen times, and I beat you twice.”
Tic-tac-toe was his new obsession. Every person Harris encountered was coerced into playing. Josie and Noah had found dozens of scraps of paper around the house, filled with completed tic-tac-toe games. She’d just cleaned the remnants of several of them out of the dryer filter.
“So the score is fifteen to two,” said another female voice. The owner of the Cosmic Primrose lip gloss that had just ruined all of Josie’s work attire. The girl stood next to Misty, her gaze on the pile of dough she was kneading. Misty was teaching her how to make homemade pasta, and she was a far better student than Josie or Noah had ever been. “This seems like a tournament situation to me. Better keep playing.”
Trout looked back and forth between her and Misty. When no scraps dropped at his feet, he whined softly.
Erica snickered as Harris heaved a sigh and climbed back onto her lap. She handed him the pen and they started a new game. His blond head bent in concentration, making the little whorl at the crown of his head visible. Ray had had one exactly like that.
Erica leaned closer to him as their game moved faster, the pen being passed back and forth with lightning speed. Nine months earlier, Josie and Noah had met the twenty-year-old during a case so harrowing that they both still had nightmares about it. Erica had been instrumental in solving it—and in saving Noah’s life. Not to mention that she’d turned out to have a shocking connection to Josie’s past.
“That’s one for me!” she said excitedly, much to Harris’s disappointment. “Fifteen to three!”
Erica had quickly and seamlessly become part of Josie and Noah’s inner circle. Once a college drop-out, she was now enrolled at Denton University where she could have a fresh start and Josie and Noah could act as part of her support system. Her first semester was under her belt and she was waiting to start summer classes. She stopped by their house often. Her dad, Alec, still lived in Williamsport but he was looking for a job in Denton so he could relocate. Erica’s newly discovered maternal grandmother had just moved into a skilled nursing facility nearby. Erica wanted as much time with her as she could get. Josie couldn’t blame her. She hadn’t had nearly enough time with her own grandmother and Lisette had been present her entire life.
“I won again!” Harris crowed triumphantly, pumping his fist into the air.
“That still doesn’t give you permission to gloat.” Erica flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder, feigning supreme confidence. “I could totally catch up, you know.”
He scoffed. “No, you can’t! Me and Aunt JoJo played like a hundred times last week. She tried to catch up with me and she couldn’t do it and she’s the best tic-tac-toe player in the world, besides me!”
Warmth stirred in Josie’s chest. At least Harris still adored her. He probably always would. He didn’t remember a time when she wasn’t in his life, unlike fourteen-year-old Wren McMann, who had shown up on their doorstep on New Year’s Eve to declare that her father had died of pancreatic cancer and left custody of her to them.
Abandoning the wash, Josie stepped into the doorway just as Wren turned and aimed a dazzling smile at Harris. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘Girls rule, boys drool?’”
Misty laughed, her blonde ponytail swishing across her shoulders as she shook her head. Wren handed her the ball of dough, and she started wrapping it in cellophane. It had to “rest,” whatever the hell that meant. Trout watched carefully, whimpering when none of the dough was offered to him.
“Nuh-uh,” Harris protested.
“It’s true,” Wren said solemnly. “Just ask Erica and your mom.”
The banter continued. Josie watched Wren. As she teased Harris, her smile reached her eyes. That didn’t happen often. She was still very pale, and she’d lost weight since moving in with them. Josie and Noah were legendary for their poor culinary skills but with Misty’s help, they’d gotten much better. It wasn’t lack of food that kept Wren thin. It was grief. Josie remembered after losing her grandmother—who had been the most important person in her life—that the first few months or so were a blur of raw feelings and utter shock, filled with crushing fatigue and zero appetite. All things considered, Wren was handling it quite well. Her black hair had grown well past her shoulders since she’d arrived, but its tips were still dyed a bright red. If her dad had allowed it, Josie and Noah certainly couldn’t tell her to stop—not that it did any harm. Besides, as every parent they knew had told them when they finalized guardianship of Wren—they would need to pick their battles wisely.
“You used to drool in your sleep, honey,” Misty teased her son.
Harris’s cheeks turned bright red. “No, no. I didn’t. I never did!”
Wren and Erica exchanged a conspiratorial smile. Wren had often wondered aloud whether he had a crush on Erica.
“Your Uncle Noah also drools in his sleep,” Wren told him. “I saw it just a couple of days ago when he was napping on the couch.”
Josie opened her palm and looked at the Cosmic Primrose tube. Wren’s therapist had told them that when it came to setting and enforcing house rules, they should not take her grief into account. Children needed structure. It gave them certainty and Wren needed that now more than ever. All Josie had to do was tell her to please check her pockets when she did her wash from now on.
