“Are you Mommy’s old friend?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you a good old friend?”
The question was so simple it hurt.
“I’m trying to be,” I said.
He accepted that and returned to Lily’s waffle castle.
Rachel’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen, frowned, and stepped toward the kitchen to answer. “Hello?”
I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but I saw Rachel’s expression tighten.
“How did you get this number?” she asked.
My chest tightened.
She listened, one hand pressed flat against the counter. “No. I’m not discussing anything with you.”
I moved closer. “Who is it?”
Rachel looked at me, fear returning to her eyes. She put the phone on speaker.
A woman’s voice filled the kitchen, calm and familiar.
“Rachel, this is Margaret Hart. I think it’s time we all stopped pretending.”
My mother.
I stared at the phone.
