Page 69 of A Thousand Little Goodbyes

Chrissie smiled then, a slow, creeping thing that both looked and felt genuine. To Scarlett,fightingmeant the obvious—pitched battles and raised voices, adrenaline pumping every step of the way. But Chrissie had been fighting more insidious battles her whole life.

That was the one thing Scarlett had never been able to understand about her. Where she saw Chrissie bending and twisting to make way for the winds that tried to knock her down, Chrissie saw only the strength it took to stay rooted where life had planted her.

* * *

“Okay. So, walk me through your expectations for Tranquility Estates. I need to take a few notes.”

Chrissie sat perched on a barstool, a martini in front of her left hand and a pad of paper on her right. Scarlett had made an annoyedtskwhen Chrissie had pulled both it and a pen out of her oversized purse, but she’d known better than to put up more than a nominal protest.

“Define what you mean by ‘expectations,’” Scarlett asked as she twirled an olive on the end of a swizzle stick.

“The usual. What kind of staff will be there? What’s my exact role? Will I be in your cabin with you, or are there rules about who can sleep where? After it’s all over, am I responsible for getting your remains back to Oregon? Do you evenwantto go back to Oregon?”

Chrissie sipped her drink and grimaced at the powerful, pine-needle punch of gin on an empty stomach.

Scarlett, naturally, pounced on that rather than any of the other things Chrissie had just said. “You hate gin, Chrissie. You always have. Why did you order a martini if you don’t even want one? Have we learned nothing these past few weeks?”

Chrissie fought the urge to toss the rest of the glass’s contents in Scarlett’s face.

“You brought us to a martini bar, Scarlett. The waitress asked what I wanted before we even sat down. Forgive me for panicking and orderinga martini.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes and lifted a hand. Right on cue, their waitress, a fiftysomething woman who looked as harassed as Chrissie felt, came bustling back. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m so sorry, but my friend here doesn’t actually want this martini. She panic-ordered it. Her first instinct is to always say what she thinks people want to hear rather than what’s in her heart. Is there any way we can get you to replace it?”

The waitress smiled as though people routinely came into this bar and mistakenly ordered twenty-dollar drinks. “No problem. What would you rather have, hon?”

“It’s not a crime to consider other people’s feelings,” Chrissie said.

The waitress blinked down at her. “Um…we have a few specials, if you’d like to hear them. Otherwise I can leave you with the menu and—”

“It’s not a crime to order something you want, either,” Scarlett returned.

The waitress took a step backwards. “I feel like maybe you two could use a minute.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Scarlett warned in a dangerous voice. “My friend’s going to order exactly what she wants and only what she wants. And we’ll sit here for as long as it takes for her to come up with it.”

“Actually, I have a few other things I need to do before—”

“See, Scarlett? She has other things to do. Other customers to serve. She can’t stand around at my beck and call all night just because I want her to.” Chrissie turned to the waitress with a determined smile. “The martini I ordered is just fine, thank you. Please tell the bartender I appreciate the twist of lime.”

The waitress would have scuttled gratefully away, but Scarlett wasn’t done yet.

“I couldn’t help noticing that you have a piano in the corner,” she said. “Would it be okay if my friend played a few songs? She went viral recently. Maybe you’ve seen the videos? It could be a real boost to your business.”

Chrissie didn’t give the waitress a chance to recognize her. She also didn’t give her a chance to take the drink away. Barely suppressing a grunt of rage, she kicked back the entire martini at once, letting the powerful wave of alcohol light her up from the inside.

“I don’t want to play the stupid piano, Scarlett, and I don’t want a different drink. I want you to stop acting like my whole life has been a waste just because I dared to live it differently than you.”

Instead of reeling back at the sudden venom in Chrissie’s voice, Scarlett leaned forward and clasped her hands on the table.

“Excellent.Nowwe’re getting somewhere. Tell me what else you’re feeling. Shout it from the rooftops if you have to.”

“Yeeeaah, I’m going to come back later.” The waitress snatched the empty glass as she dashed to safety on the other side of the bar. “And I’m taking all the projectiles with me. I’m getting way too old for this.”

Chrissie barely registered the woman’s absence. Despite the dim lighting and the general buzz of conversation in the background—or maybe because of it—the entire world reduced to just the two of them.

“You’re pissed at me, aren’t you?” Scarlett asked. For the briefest moment, Chrissie could have sworn she looked pleased by this—happy, even. “You want to scream and shout and tell me exactly how awful I am for putting you in this position. What kind of a best friend springs an assisted suicide on someone at the last possible second? Who would be awful enough to do that?”