Page 37 of Lavender Lake
CHAPTER TEN
The Ranch
Hadley looked at her cell phone. “It’s past seven in New York. We should call Wyn and Poet and give them an update.”
Nodding, I scooched my chair closer to hers. She fiddled with her cell and found Poet’s name first.
She held up the phone to our faces as we waited for our best friend to answer.
Poet appeared after two rings. Her glasses were smudged and her brown hair was in a haphazard, lopsided ponytail.
“Hey,” she greeted.
“Hey,” Hadley replied. “Are you okay?”
Poet’s fairy-esque face morphed into a frown of confusion. “Yeah. Why?”
“You look a little . . .” I trailed off.
“Oh. I was napping.”
“Napping? At seven at night?” I pressed.
Poet clamped her mouth shut.
“Let me get Wyn on the line,” Hadley announced. “And then we can talk about the fact that going to bed at seven at night is not a nap—that’s depression.”
“It’s only depression if you make it a habit,” she grumbled.
“How many times this week?” I asked.
“I’d rather not say. Besides, we’ve got more important things to talk about,” Poet replied.
A few moments later, our other best friend joined the call. Her blonde hair was down around her shoulders and the dim lighting of her surroundings sculpted her cheekbones, carving them into a work of art.
“Hey,” Wyn greeted.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“The Carrington’s Park Avenue apartment,” she replied. “They’re at some fundraiser, so I’ll be spending the night.”
“Show me Mildred,” Hadley demanded.
The covers rustled, and then a long-haired miniature dachshund appeared, looking completely put out that she’d been awakened from a sound sleep.
“God, she’s cute,” Hadley said.
“Super cute,” I agreed.
“Think she’d get along with Tempest?” Wyn asked.
“My baby goat thinks she’s a dog,” Hadley said with a laugh. “So yes. I’m pretty sure Mildred would get along with Tempest.”
“So, what’s going on?” Poet asked, directing the conversation away from adorable animals. “How’s your dad?”
“Muddy’s staying the night at the hospital,” Hadley explained. “She coerced the nurses into letting her sleep in an on-call room that the staff normally uses. So far, there’s no real change. I mean, Dad came through surgery and the pressure on his brain has been relieved. But we won’t know more for a few days—until they try to wake him up.”
“Say the word,” Poet said. “And we’re on the first flight out of here.”
