Page 41 of Good as Gold
“Listen…” She grins. “If you really want to be a pal, you can pick up Nicole from nursery school at noon. Dave is golfing, so I was going to have to do it. But then my employees would have to cut their lunch breaks short.”
“I’m free at noon. But is this nursery school…”
“Yep!” She grins. “Leila will be so happy to see you.”
My eyes narrow at my sister. “Dave is golfing, huh. In April?”
“He’s a big golfer,” she says with a smile. “Very serious. What a huge favor you’d be doing us.”
“Fine,” I say with a grunt. “Sure.”
“Tell Leila hi for me. I’ll text you the address.” She snickers. “Twelve sharp!” Then she heads back into the kitchen for another batch of muffins.
* * *
In the car on the way home, my phone rings.
It’s Cara, so I answer immediately. “Hi, honey. Everything okay?” It’s only six a.m. in Colorado.
“Everything isfine,” Sean’s wife says immediately. Maybe she’s just like me now—certain that every phone call signifies a fresh disaster. “I was just up early and wondering how you’re doing.”
“Not bad. Sleeping in a trailer. Driving a rental car. Trying to make amends with my family.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Pretty good, actually. I worked a bartending shift last night. Later I’m picking up my niece from preschool.”
“Pics, or it didn’t happen.” She giggles. “And what about the girl, Leila? Are you seeing her, too? Didn’t you say she’s a preschool teacher?”
It’s a damn shame that women listen so well. “She’s okay. I’ve seen her a couple times. She’s going through a rough patch, too. She got, uh, divorced.”
There’s a silence, and for a second I think the call might have dropped. “Divorced. Wow. Interesting timing you have for visiting home.”
“Can you not? It’s just a coincidence. And try not to freak out when I ask you this question…”
“Ooh! Hit me.”
“How do you think my place would do on Airbnb for the summer? I know you and Sean used to earn some coin that way.”
“Interesting question,” she says. “And we’re sure this has nothing to do with Leila’s divorce?”
I sigh. “Cara…”
“Yes, Matteo. You could make a mint on Airbnb. You’d need some good photos. But your place is great, and it’s walking distance to everything. I’d probably ask five hundred a night, but then double that during the festivals. Or—another idea—I could ask my friend who works at the resort if they know of any VIPs who need a whole summer rental. You could ask twenty-five thousand for the season.”
I whistle. “Would you ask her?”
“Of course.”
“If this works, I could pay Lissa to go over there and box up all my clothes, clear out the toiletries, and so on.”
“Sure, but let me clear out your stash first. Edibles. Condoms.”
“Okay, oops.”
She snickers. “The whole summer, though? We’ll miss you.”
“I’m sorry. This just seems like something I need to do.”
