Page 21 of Old Flames

“Which is what?”

“Ask Barbara to send a car to New Jersey to pick up Kit.”

“She’ll think you’re nuts.”

“Oh, that was settled long ago.”

“Fair point.”

Vicky sent out a couple of rapid-fire text messages, then pocketed her phone.

“Where does this leave you and Big Money?” Jules asked.

“Fuck him!”

“Great,” Jules said. “I was rooting for Matty.”

“We’ll see about that. Now I’m pissed.”

Jules did her best to console her. “It’ll be alright. Big Money always gave me the ick.”

“He’s not even my type!” Vicky cried. Then she shook off her frustrations with a breath and a toss of her wet hair. “While I have you alone—”

“You don’t.” Jules pointed out that they were surrounded by people, nosy people, who were all within earshot.

Vicky lowered her voice. “How are you doing?”

“I’m cool.”

“Sure, but are you okay?” Vicky asked. “Ayesha isn’t around. You can tell me the truth.”

If there was one test to their newfound friendship, it was Ayesha’s deeply rooted belief that most of life’s problems could be prayed away. She was from a family of high achievers and wasn’t raised to dwell on imaginary problems. Leave it to the Lord was her customary response.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jules said.

“I’ll worry if I want.” Vicky’s phone pinged with a text message, putting an end to the interrogation. “Good news!” she declared. “Barbara is sending the driver for Kit, so she won’t have to hear me bitch about it for the next five years.”

“A mother’s love knows no bounds,” Jules quipped.

“Truly.”

“Are you ready for later?” Jules asked.

Tonight was her night. She and Sebastien would open the lecture series.

“It’s in the bag,” Vicky assured her. “What I’m really looking forward to is the ghost tour. I hear they dress up and everything. It’s going to be epic.”

Given the choice of communicating with people or spirits, Vicky would always choose the latter.

“Do you mind taking a picture with me for socials?” Vicky asked.

“Looking like this?”

The phone was out, and the photo snapped before Jules could do anything about it.

“Thanks, doll,” Vicky said. “It’s more authentic this way.”

“Christ,” Jules whispered.