If It Makes You Happy(115)

Years ago, she wore T-shirts and denim. She went through a funny leg-warmer phase in our early twenties and a padded blazer phase years later. As time passed, I realized she always hinted at wanting more than the small-town life. She always wanted to be more put together, and now she has the money to do so.

Tracy’s eyes dart back and forth between the two pieces of technology until the door snaps shut behind me. She jerks her gaze to mine. I hold up a hand in a wave. She returns it while tucking the beeper back on her belt loop and leaning the kitchen phone between her ear and shoulder.

She holds up a single finger in my direction. Please wait.

Brittany, sitting at the breakfast nook, flashes me a piece of paper with crayon-doodled stick people.

“Look, Dad! I drew you and Michelle!”

“That’s great, Britt Britt.”

“Did you see Rocket too?” She shakes the flopping, crinkled paper closer.

It’s a drawing of me, Michelle, and the two girls. My mouth crooks into a smile. Michelle is wearing a short red skirt. Emily has big black circles for eyes, probably to show how doe-eyed she is. In the corner, there’s a black-and-white dog with stick legs.

“I love it,” I say. “We’ll put it on the fridge.”

“Yay!” she squeals.

I press my finger to my lips, and Brittany mirrors the motion.

“We gotta be quiet while Mom’s on the phone though, all right?”

“Why?” Emily asks loudly from the corner.

I run a palm over my face.

Emily passes her mom like she’s not even there, reaching in the fridge to grab some pop and take it into the next room. Josh follows dutifully.

Tracy crosses her arms, peering into the dining room to look at Emily, silent on the phone. Suddenly, she straightens up, switching the phone to her other ear. “Hi. Yes, this is Tracy Marie.”

She’s going by her middle name now?

“Mm-hmm.”

As Tracy continues her conversation, the back door opens, almost slamming into my back. Michelle’s head pokes through.

“Trying to kill me?” I whisper with a grin.

“Sorry,” Michelle says, snickering. Her voice isn’t low, so it cuts through the kitchen like a knife.

Tracy flicks her eyes at Michelle, like laser beams ready to fire.

Tracy was always stiff around women. She had a few friends in Copper Run, but I don’t think she’s talked to them since moving. Most of all though, she never liked when I made other women laugh.

I move to the side, guiding Michelle in with a hand on her lower back.

Emily traipses back into the kitchen with a grin on her face, leaning against the doorway, loudly slurping on her can. She’s here for the drama.

“Hey, Michelle,” she says at normal volume, obliterating the quiet again.

I roll my eyes, and Emily grins wider.

Tracy covers the receiver. “Let me call you back, Doug. Mm-hmm. Yep. Mm-kay. Buh-bye.” She jabs her finger against the phone’s button, staring at our motley crew.

Emily slurps again. It echoes.

Michelle takes the first step forward, extending her hand. “Hi. You must be Tracy.”

Tracy turns her head to the side, as if analyzing Michelle’s entire being—her body, her face, her hair, which has that freshly washed bounce to it.

It’s weird, seeing them side by side, because, aside from the hair color (Tracy’s high blond ponytail and Michelle’s brown) and the complexion (Tracy’s ivory and Michelle’s almost olive), they’re similar. They look like they could be friends. At minimum, colleagues. Like two sides of the same coin.

Tracy takes Michelle’s hand and shakes in a definitive way. Almost jerky.

“This is Michelle,” I say. “She owns the inn next door.”

“She’s Dad’s best friend,” Brittany throws in, mindlessly coloring, not realizing she threw a grenade into the room.

“Really?” Tracy asks, blinking at Michelle.

Michelle rolls her eyes with a smile. “He helps with the inn a lot.”

“Sounds like Cliff. Did he force you to be his friend?”

“I forced him actually,” Michelle says matter-of-factly.

I bark out a laugh without thinking. It’s not true, and we both know it, but I can see what she’s doing.

He’s not a burden, she’s saying.

And, God, I love her for it.

Tracy and Michelle might be equally intense women, but they’re undeniably different.

Michelle’s posture is tall. Her look is effortless. She’s not wearing a blazer, like Tracy. Michelle’s only in a button-up and jeans, but it’s somehow nicer. Tucked in. And Tracy keeps looking at all of her with hawk eyes.

“So”—Tracy claps her hands together—“what’s new out here, family? What are we doing?”

I don’t miss the family dropped in there, and I also catch the side-eye Tracy gives Michelle.

I don’t like that. Not one bit.

Brittany shrugs. “We play in the snow.”

“That’s fun,” Tracy says with raised eyebrows, but the words are stilted, then quiet.

I’m not sure she knows how to interact with her girls anymore. Emily moaned about how uncomfortable Thanksgiving was for the entire week afterward. I didn’t consider it might be this bad though.