Page 50 of Every Chance After

Marina sleeps soundly, nestled to me, her arms locked around my midsection like I’m a body pillow.

I’m strangely okay with that.

The knocking persists. It must be Mom with the migraine medications. Gently, I shift out from under her, untangling us, though I don’t want to. She doesn’t wake.

I swing the front door open mid-loud pounding.

Cora Sullivan. In full business-formal. Carrying an absurdly large gift basket wrapped in cellophane.

Her practiced smile drops at the sight of me. She practically seethes. “Why are you here? Where’s Marnie?”

“In bed. Asleep,” I whisper. “I’d like to keep it that way. She’s had a rough night.”

She scoffs, pushing the basket into my arms and bulldozing her way inside. “You’ve been hereall night?”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t be here at all,” she barks, not even trying to be quiet.

“Someone had to be,” I say.

“And she calledyou?”

“No. My involvement is purely coincidental. Not that it matters. She needed help, and I offered. She’s in a lot of pain, she barely slept, and she’s suffering from a migraine because of the anesthesia. So, please, keep your voice down.”

Her eyes narrow, but her furrowed brow softens somewhat. “Well, I’m here now. You can go.”

“Not a chance.”

She gawks—she’s not used to being told no, but I’m happy to do it, for Marina’s sake.

Though it’s my first clash with Cora Sullivan, she’s never liked the Tripps. She grossly overcharges for Dad’s dairy products, something they debate often. She bickers with Mom over charity fundraisers at church. At one of Marigold’s art shows, I heard Cora call her work “pedestrian.” A deep-seated hate or general snobbiness? I don’t know. All I know is that it comes out aroundcertainpeople.

People she doesn’t need or want things from. Like us Tripps.

For the rest of Seagrove’s population, her sophistication and determination draw people in like flies to a bug zapper. She’s an anomaly for a town like this. Many people in Seagrove have money, but Cora wears her wealth in her attitude, clothes, everything, and she’s always snubbed her nose at our blue-jeans and dirty-boots family.

I take her basket of gourmet cheeses, crackers, and fully cooked snacking meats to the kitchen. The gift might as well be a salt lick—fine for horses, but not okay for someone recovering from surgery. The salt content alone would kick natural anxiety into a panicked frenzy—another thing I learned from Dad after his surgery. Not that I’ll bother explaining that to Cora.

She drops her expensive bag and keys on the coffee table, eyeing me. “Inserting yourself into her life won’t spare you a lawsuit.”

“I don’t care about that. Just her.” My arms fold over my chest, and her brow cocks over the sight of my tattoos. “How’s Ashe? Did he land in Jamaica okay?”

“He’s distraught over Marnie. He wouldn’t be too happy about this intrusion, that’s for sure.”

Her words almost sound like a threat. “Anyone who loves Marina would want her to feel better. That’s all I’m trying to do. If Ashe has a problem with that, then he should bring his ass home.”

Her eyes narrow. “There’s that Tripp family arrogance. You’ve got some nerve, lecturing me. Marnie wouldn’t be in this condition if not for you. Haven’t you done enough damage?”

Her voice catches with emotion, hooking my guilt and reeling it in. The pain I’ve caused Marina affects her, too—maybe it is arrogant, engaging her like this when I’m the one at fault.

“I’m sorry about what happened and the pain I’ve caused your family,” I say, clearing my throat, “but that’s why I need to be here for her.”

Another pound rattles the door just as Marina edges around the hallway corner. “What’s going on?”

She carries the lukewarm ice pack in one hand and her cane in the other. Her pajamas practically swallow her up, and her pained expression and pallid color tell me that her migraine is still there.

Cora goes to her, cooing and gushing with, “Aw, Marnie” and “You poor thing.”

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