Page 8 of Pin-up Girl

Not this?—

“Watch it.” A pleasant voice interrupted my thoughts, and I blinked a few times to bring myself back to the coffee shop.

The woman standing in front of me had long blond hair, piled in perfectly coiffed curls on top of her head, and her lips were painted bright red and quirked with curiosity and concern as she studied me. “You okay, space case?” Aubrey asked.

Running into her nearly always brightened my day, though I’d rather not literally collide with her.

I also wasn’t ready to dump all of this on her. I’d rather distract myself with her gossip. “A little distracted, but good.”

“Uh-huh.” She had a coffee too—how did I completely miss her being here?—and she used her free hand to steer me toward a table at the back of the dining room. “Tell me what’s in your brain.”

“Nothing. Really.” I held out her chair for her and pushed it in as she sat, then took my own seat. “I heard Sylvie is in town. She’s getting married? Seriously?” I usually didn’t pay attention to gossip, but hearing Sylvie’s name made me perk up. If someone was talking shit about Aubrey’s little sister, I’d have to rearrange some attitudes.

Aubrey gave an amused snort. “Gotta love the rumor mill. Yeah, she’s staying with me for the next month or so.”

“That’s kind of huge. Spill.” Anything to take my mind off my issue for a few minutes. Not that I minded listening to Aubrey. Ever.

She shrugged. Once upon a time I’d entertained so many fantasies about kissing those shoulders. Sliding down one or both of those thick red and white sundress straps, and seeing if I could lick away her freckles.

“Not much to tell,” Aubrey said. “You’ve probably already heard it all.”

“Not really. I mean, we have a fiancé that came out of nowhere, and Sylvie acting in a very un-Sylvie-like way, showing up with no warning. Wanting to get married in a month. Fill in the blanks for me.”

“I don’t have any more details than you do, except that she’s inviting Grandma.” For an instant, Aubrey’s expression soured. “Oh, and she was up at dawn this morning, working in my guest room, so if she’s been body-snatched, they returned her to get her job done. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, tell me to fuck off.”

She wasn’t going to drop the subject of me. Not that I wanted her to. I needed to talk this out, as much as I hated sharing.

My dry chuckle ended in a sigh. “Dee had a recital this weekend.” She attended a dance school near her mom’s—my ex—up in the rich part of the mountains. “She collapsed on stage.”

“Oh my God, is she all right?” Aubrey’s concern was immediate and tangible. “She must be, or you wouldn’t be here. Tell me she’s okay.”

“She’s fine.” We assumed. I hated not knowing. “She’s home right now sulking because she’s not allowed to practice this morning.”

“In other words, she’s not actually fine.”

Picking apart the words to tell Aubrey about this forced me to slot my thoughts into neat rows. Something to be grateful for. “It was her heart. We saw her doctor yesterday, and he said it may be some sort of cardiomyopathy. Probably not terminal or anything like that, but it’s going to take testing to figure out the details.”

“Thank God she’s okay. Probably isn’t reassuring, and testing… I’m sorry. There’s more, isn’t there?”

I didn’t know how she’d figured that out, but there was. “Testing costs money, and my insurance isn’t going to cover nearly enough. Regina isn’t going to chip in or add Dee to her insurance unless I let Dee go live with her full time.” Just saying it made me furious all over again.

Aubrey’s face contorted with rage. “What the fuck? She’s using her daughter’s fucking health as a bargaining chip?”

“I know. I’m furious about it.” I’d tucked the anger aside so that Dee wouldn’t have to deal with it, but talking about it brought the feeling back again. “I’ve been racking my brain for a solution that doesn’t involve me getting arrested”—there were a lot of possibilities there, but Dee lost in every scenario—“and I can’t find anything but giving Regina what she wants. I haven’t figured out how to tell Dee.”

Aubrey squeezed her coffee cup so hard the sides squished, and hot liquid splashed us both. She eeped and I helped her clean it up.

“I’ve had the same reaction over and over in the past couple of days,” I said.

“It’s just so fucked up. I swear if that woman was here, I’d punch her in the smug face. Or the tit. Maybe not the tit. My fist would bounce off the silicone and I’d end up punching myself.”

I almost smiled at the cartoon-like visual. Not that Regina was well-endowed. She was a dancer, and had actually had breast reduction. But she still had implants to give her that perfect shape. One of those benefits of coming from a wealthy Utah family—she got whatever she wanted, including perfectly small tits and the right to steal my daughter from me.

“There has to be something you can do. Something we can do.” Deep creases marred Aubrey’s forehead.

“Magic me some amazing health insurance. Now.” There was that or I could win the lottery. Neither seemed likely.

Aubrey twisted her mouth into a scowl, and went to drink her coffee. Her frown deepened as she raised a cup too destroyed to drink from, then set it back down.

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