If It Makes You Happy(57)

“Okay, I’ve got the blow-up mattress ready to go,” I say to a mother who looks run ragged. “And I put Power Rangers bedsheets on it, so there’s no question about who’s sleeping on it.” I nod to her twin boys zooming through the parlor with an action figure held high. “You’ll get the main bed.”

She exhales. “You’re a saint, Birdie.”

Chills skitter across my arms when she shakes my hand.

“Oh.” I freeze. “Birdie is my mother actually. I’m Michelle.”

The woman runs a palm down her cheek, pulling the skin around her eye with it. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’ve barely slept in days.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, forcing a laugh.

The mistake was bound to happen. We haven’t updated all the signage and innkeeper information. Maybe it’s a good thing it happened so late in the month, when I’ve been here long enough to be okay with it. But it doesn’t ease the squeezing in my chest.

The phone in the kitchen rings, so I shove through the swinging door.

Emily and Brittany sit at the breakfast nook with papers scattered around them—Brittany with a Lisa Frank coloring page and Emily with her homework. I trip over Rocket’s dog bed, basically stumbling to the phone. Emily looks up. Dark circles run under her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, the phone blaring beside me.

“Yeah.”

“Em?”

She slouches. “Josh hasn’t called today.”

“Oh, I’m so—” The phone rings again, and I groan. “One second.” I pluck the phone from its cradle. “Thank you for calling Bird & Breakfast. This is—”

“Shells!”

My sister’s voice sends my heart flying into my throat, followed immediately by guilt. I cannot remember the last time we talked.

“Sara,” I say on a breath. It’s funny how the distraction of the inn made me completely forget about everything else.

“Is this a bad time?” she asks.

“No, no, it’s a perfect time,” I lie.

Emily lays down her pencil and raises a judging eyebrow. I raise both of mine in return.

“It’s a full house over here,” I amend. “Halloween, you know.”

“Oh, cool,” Sara says.

I hear a leather couch squeaking on her end of the line. She’s settling in, which means this might be an hour-long phone call if I’m not careful. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem—we haven’t spoken in a week or two—but my back is aching, and the arches of my feet are screaming from hurrying around the house all day.

“Yeah, it’s pretty packed, Sara,” I say.

Emily’s eyes widen.

I cover the phone with my palm and whisper, “It’s my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“Who is that?” Sara asks.

I fiddle with my earring and squeeze my eyes shut. “Sorry, that’s Cliff’s daughter.”

“Hot Neighbor?”

“Is she from Seattle too?” Emily asks.

“Yes,” I answer both of them.

“Ooh. Shells, so you do think he’s hot?”

“Sara. He’s not—” But I don’t finish because, well, that’s not exactly a bridge I want to cross.

Sara gasps at my silence. “Oh snap.”

“Can I ask her why boys suck?” Emily chimes in with a scowl.

“You can ask me that,” I say.

Sara laughs. “Ask you what? If you think he’s hot?”

“Sara,” I warn again, “he’s only a friend.”

Emily gasps this time. “Are you talking about my dad?”

I point a finger at her. “Hang on a second.”

“Me?” Sara asks.

“No, not you.”

“Not me?” Emily asks.

“Stop being difficult.”

Sara laughs. “Me?”

“No!”

I slouch against the wall right as the kitchen door swings in. One of the guest’s twin boys sneaks in for a snack.

Thankfully, Emily stands, gives me a thumbs-up, and silently nudges him back into the parlor with a “Where’s your mommy?”

Beyond the door, a hum of indiscernible conversation continues, but it’s muffled enough for me to take in a breath.

“Sorry,” I say into the phone with an exhale. “It’s a little chaotic here.”

“Sounds like you’re chillin’ though.”

“I guess. The place is running at least.”

Emily pokes her head in the door. “Can you ask her—”

“Em!” I snap with a laugh. “Give me a second!”

Emily grins, knowing she’s hamming it up. She disappears on the other side of the door.

“That teen is gonna kill me,” I murmur to Sara, sighing and rolling my head back against the wall. My sister is quiet for a moment on the other end of the line, to the point that I have to ask, “Sara, you there?”

“You sound happy, Shells.”

I let out a strained laugh. “Do I? Because I feel stressed.”

“You like being busy and stuff. And you sound like you’ve got friends.”