Page 19 of Wicked Little Secret

“Alex Forest? The lady fromFatal Attraction?”

“Theron, this is serious. It starts with keying cars. Then it’s fifty gazillion texts and voice messages. Then, next thing you know, you’re returning home to Atty’s severed head.”

“A bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“You say that now. But a girl crazy enough to key the shit out of your car is crazy enough to chop your dog’s head off.”

“Five minutes ago you said it wasn’t that bad… remember?”

“Sarcasm, bro. Language of the millennial. Remember?”

“Veronica’s harmless.”

“And that’s why she keyed your car,” Theo says. “The bitch knows she can get away with it. You want me to confront her?”

“Stay away from the situation. The absolute last thing I need is for mykid sisterto fight my battles.”

“Say the word and I will. Anyway, why aren’t you dressed? Have you forgotten what today is?”

“Today is Sunday, Theo. Which means I’ll be doing my grocery shopping, laundry, and other chores about the house. I’ll cook dinner and then settle in the den by six with a good book.”

“Sounds thrilling. Sometimes I forget you’re forty-two, not eighty-two,” she says dryly.

“Forty-one. I won’t be forty-two until October thirty-first.”

“Otherwise known as Halloween. But you won’t actually spend the day pretending you’re eighty, bro. Because you already promised to come with me to the art festival!”

“When was this?”

“Weeks ago. Remember… Atty was sick and you needed me to run home to take him to the vet ’cuz you were stuck in a meeting?”

The disgruntled glare I shoot her makes her laugh. “The last time I accompanied you to one of your things, you met up with some greasy-haired stoner named Doobie.Unironically.”

Theo places her hands on her wide hips, never mirroring our stern and authoritative mother more than in this moment. It tracks, considering they’re both wavy-haired brunettes with smattered freckles. The difference being, Theo goes out of her way to be the antithesis to everything Mom stands for…

“Theron Thurman Adler, put some damn clothes on—ones with no stretch—and grab the keys to your fucked up, keyed BMW. We’re swinging by the art festival.”

“Is this the part where I say, ‘yes mother’?”

“This is the part where you live a little. For once. Don’t you have students that’ll be there?”

“All the more reason not to go.”

Theo narrows her eyes, her chin setting.

I sigh, throwing in the proverbial towel. If I go along with Theo’s idea, I can bide my time for the inevitable moment something new and shiny steals her attention. Then she’ll wander off, and I can get the hell out of dodge and go do things I really should be doing on a Sunday.

Boring things. Mundane things.

Things like carefully selecting produce at the grocery store and settling down with a new book and some brandy.

It’s as I head upstairs to change that I come across the crumpled note from the other day in class. It had been tucked under the flyer Nyssa Oliver had given me. I hadn’t even read it until after she left the room with her oafish boyfriend.

It had earned the slightest tremor of amusement inside me.

Now, as I come across the note, I’m drawn to the delicate loops and svelte lines of her penmanship. Picking up the piece of vellum stock paper, I unfurl it ’til I’m able to reread the note in its entirety:

A wise man once said you only get one chance at making a first impression. That wise man neverheard of bribing someone with their favorite caffeinated beverage. Hope this makes up for it. :)

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