Page 70 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
This concoction is her go-to for hangovers. At least, it had been before she had kids when she played the part of the middle child well—the wild partygoer who snuck out of the house to secret barn or creek parties.
Even in her twenties, she never passed up a party, until she got knocked up after a one-night stand with an assholeAshwood.
“You drank, what, two times as much as we did?” Natalie leans toward the table for a piece of toast.
“At least.” Hannah sips her tea, slow and careful.
“She’s not human,” Josie pulls the blanket down when I stop in front of her. “She’s a hangover-immune mutant.”
“Drink this.” I extend a glass of lemon water toward her.
“What time did you get up that you were able to slip into the lodge kitchen and request all this stuff?”
“It hurts you don’t think I’d prep this for you.” The coolness of the frosted glass presses against my palm.
“Did you?”
“Yes, but first I hit the morning meeting.”
Josie groans. “She was up before six.”
“What kind of hungover person gets up before six?” Natalie grabs a packet of butter and a knife.
“Sociopaths. Or witches.” Josie takes the lemon water. “I told you she’s a witch.”
“And this.” I pull an ice pack out of my pocket.
Josie’s eyes light up as much as they can for her condition. “A good witch.”
“Not so much butter.” I point at Natalie as she scoops the whole packet onto her knife. “It’s too greasy for your stomach.”
“It’s not for me.”
Juniper, the wild skunk she nursed back to health, is perched at her feet, eyeing the toast in my sister’s hand. His left ear is a little shredded, the edges frayed from a past run-in, making it flop to the side.
Natalie lowers her hand, and the skunk nibbles on the toast. “I want to hate you, but you brought us Advil and toast.”
Josie practically melts into the middle of the wicker L-shaped sofa, placing the ice pack on her forehead and sliding the sunglasses over her eyes.
“Shhh. Why are y’all yelling?”
No contest, she’s the most ragged of all of them.
“That fireball shot is really kicking in,” I chuckle. “The one you tossed back while singing Friends in Low Places. On the table.”
“I think I still taste that fireball.” Josie tilts her head back, and her ice pack falls behind her, landing on the ground. “Nooo. Why am I awake? Why do you guys torture yourselves like this? One or two drinks a night is plenty. This? This is a cruel jokeafter a fun night. I will never forgive you, Jade, for introducing me to this side of drinking.”
That doesn’t bode well for my attempt to back out of the rodeo.
I hear a screen door slam shut and glance up to see Hope leaving my cabin at the far end of the crescent-shaped row. I chose it because two oaks half hide it. There are no flower boxes, no wind chimes. Just the porch, a chair, and a fern I keep meaning to water.
Quiet.
Shaded.
Blissfully out of the spotlight.
Hope sees me, smiles, and waves before sticking something in the oversized bag hanging on her shoulder. She looks as fresh as a daisy in the pastel gingham dress cinched just above her baby bump.
