Page 8 of Sharing Shane

“Why don’t I come over to your place right now, and I’ll hang out until you get back. We can order lunch, get the locks changed, gather up all of Dead Dick Derek’s stuff and set it on fire. Then we can get nice and loaded.”

“I thought you said you were out of edibles.”

“I am,” Delia said mournfully. “And my weed guy is in Florida visiting his mother.”

“You know marijuana is legal in Michigan now,” Veronica reminded her. “You can just go to the dispensary.”

“Gary’s been my guy since college, he’d be crushed if I went somewhere else,” Delia said. “But it may come to that, because I don’t know if I can handle life without THC right now.”

“You’re independently wealthy, your husband adores you, and your most pressing problem on any given day is which restaurant to have lunch at. What’s to handle?”

“Julian’s mother is in town,” Delia said darkly.

“I stand corrected,” Veronica said with a laugh. “Is she still leaning on you to have kids?”

“She’s not getting any younger, Julian is her only son, the name will die out if we don’t have babies,” Delia parroted. “It doesn’t matter how many times we both tell her we’re not interested in procreating, she just keeps singing the same tune. And he’s no fucking help. ‘Got rounds, babe’, he says, then goes to the hospital and leaves me with his rabidly baby-hungry mother all day long.”

“Yeah, you need weed for that.” Veronica glanced at the clock and winced. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

“Am I coming over or not?” Delia demanded.

“Yes, come over.” Veronica walked out of the bedroom and headed for the front door. “I’ll be done with work by twelve-thirty, then I’m going to get tested. I’ll pick up some lunch on the way back.”

“I’ll order something,” Delia countered. “You’ll bring back some fast-food horror, and I want real food.”

“Fine.” Veronica scanned the apartment as she walked through, making sure no cheating boyfriends or half-naked neighbors lingered. “If you want to drink, you’ll have to bring booze, too. I’m all out.”

“I don’t know why we’re friends,” Delia groused.

“I’ll let you set fire to all Derek’s stuff.”

“That’s why we’re friends.”

Veronica opened the front door. “You’re on your way?”

“Yeah. I’ll call the locksmith when I get there.”

Veronica closed the door behind her, testing the knob to be certain it was secure. “Have him bring a deadbolt, too.”

“You got it. See you later.”

“Bye.”

Veronica fumbled the earpiece off, then shoved it into the messenger bag with the fateful paperwork. She hurried down the stairs and out of the building, quickening her pace towards campus. She’d get through her meeting and her morning clients, then worry about what to do about Derek.

And whether or not it would include the need to post bail.

Two

By one-thirty she was stretched out on her living room couch, a taco in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. The wine had a bendy straw in it so she could drink it lying down.

“You’re so fucking classy,” Delia told her.

Veronica let go of the straw just long enough to say, “I know,” then clamped her mouth around it again and sucked up more wine.

When the glass was empty, she set it on the floor and turned her attention to the taco. “You should talk, you’re the one who ordered street tacos.” She bit into it with undisguised glee, then mumbled around it, “I thought you were going to order up some fancy pants rich lady food.”

“Cheating boyfriends deserve tacos,” Delia said, then frowned. “Well, the cheating boyfriend doesn’t deserve tacos, but when you find your boyfriend cheating on you, you deserve tacos.”

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