Page 82 of Your Every Wish
“Sure, why not?”
I can hear what she’s not saying, which isDon’t you dare bring Dex. He would think the whole thing is madness anyway, so why drag him into it?
Liam is better . . . and I can’t believe I’m saying that.
“Okay, we’ll meet you there.”
I tiptoe back into the room, start to grab the same dress I was wearing earlier, and think better of it. I find a pair of clean jeans and a sweater and rush to the bathroom again to change. Then I write Dex a quick note that I have a tenant emergency, almost crumple it up because I’ve never lied to him before and leave it on the kitchen table anyway.
I’m out the door in five and flying across the driveway to Liam’s trailer. He answers, looking rumpled and sleepy in his boxer shorts and T-shirt and, if I’m being totally honest, kind of hot. I mentally slap myself for even going there.
“What’s going on?” He rubs his eyes.
“Misty has answers. I didn’t want to leave you out. But it’s late and if you’d rather go back to sleep, I can tell you in the morning. ”
“Give me three minutes. Come in, it’s cold.”
I’ve never been in Liam’s mobile home. It’s open concept and messy with piles of machinery parts on the living room floor and small appliances cluttering his dining table. Otherwise, it’s pretty nondescript, though the trailer itself is more updated than ours. The floors are luxury vinyl that look like wood planks and the kitchen counters are granite, not the janky Formica we have. The kitchen is remarkably tidy compared to the rest of the main space and there’s even a center island, which is where I sit while waiting for him, which isn’t long.
True to his word, he’s dressed and we’re out the door.
“Looks like you have company.” He nudges his chin at Dex’s Rivian.
“My boyfriend’s up from the city.”
“I guess you didn’t want him to come with us.”
Even in the darkness I can see his brows drawing together in question.
Ugh, how to explain this. “It’s not that I don’t want him to be part of this, but he’s kind of buttoned up and honestly, he’ll think Misty’s a con artist.” I slant him a glance. “Do you?”
“Think Misty’s a con artist? No. She may exaggerate her magical prowess, but she’s definitely got something the rest of us don’t. Police departments wouldn’t hire her if she didn’t have some kind of a track record.”
“That’s what I think, too.” It’s reassuring that someone as logical as Liam believes in Misty’s gift. That’s what I call it. A gift. “But Dex wouldn’t see it the way we do. And we spend so little time together as it is that I don’t want to waste it arguing with him about this.”
“Why don’t you spend much time together?”
“Because I live here, and he lives nearly three hours away.” But even before I moved to Ghost, Dex always kept me at arm’s length. No one was more surprised than I when out of the blue he offered to take a couple of days off to visit. “He works in finance and is trying to move up the ranks but it’s supercompetitive at his firm. His hours are crazy.”
Liam doesn’t say anything, but his energy is judgy. I can feel it like the wind slapping my hair against my face. My first impulse is to defend Dex but we’re here at Misty’s and excitement is thrumming through me.
Misty opens the door even before we knock and motions for us to come in. “Everyone take a seat. Let me gather up some refreshments and I’ll tell you what I saw.”
“It’s late, Misty. No refreshments,” Kennedy barks. “Let’s get on with it.”
“All right. No need to get your panties in a bunch. And if you don’t mind, or even if you do, I’d like a glass of wine. Anyone else?”
Liam and I both pass but she brings a bottle of Viognier and four glasses to the living room anyway. There’s still a heap of sewing stuff and her puddle of shiny pink polka-dot fabric is in the corner as if Misty swept it to the side to make room for us.
We all sit in anticipation of what she’s going to tell us. I still don’t believe Willy hid his fortune in a golf bag or that the tiny key we found in the bottom of an envelope will unlock a treasure trove of riches. At best, whatever Misty is about to tell us will uncover more about the father I hardly knew. I can more than live with that. But for Kennedy’s sake I hope there’s at least enough in Misty’s revelation to buy my sister out of trouble.
It’s the least Willy can do.
Misty pours herself a generous glass of wine and motions for us to help ourselves. I can tell Kennedy is a hair trigger away from losing it.
“Maybe we should get started,” I gently urge.
“In a minute.” Misty swirls her glass, then takes a leisurely sip. “You girls don’t have the first clue how taxing this is. How it wrings me out like a sponge. Speaking of, I’m parched.” This time she takes a healthy swig of Viognier.
