39. Chapter 39
thirty-nine
Skye
The smell of lavender fills the air, soft music humming beneath the chatter of women in plush robes. Archer’s mom sits next to me, ankles crossed delicately, voice light and cheerful as if we’re just two besties catching up.
Ever since New York, the entire Longfellow family has been at their most charming. Archer, especially. Flowers. Apologies. Breakfast in bed delivered by room service. Until I finally told him I forgave him, just to get him to stop. He seems to think we’re back to normal.
We’re not. Not even close.
“Oh, hi Lexi!” Mrs. Longfellow calls, waving across the room like she’s not disturbing the whole damn spa.
Mrs. Davis looks around, spots us, then smiles. “Stella!”
They give each other past-the-cheek kisses like the French do.
Just an hour ago, Boston was telling me about the apartment he couldn’t get while we stood outside Riverfront in a parking lot that looked one pothole away from total collapse.
Now I’m inside a luxury spa, sipping cucumber water and enjoying amenities that come with Mrs. Longfellow’s twelve-hundred-dollar monthly membership fee.
The contrast is enough to give me whiplash.
“And hello Skye,” Mrs. Davis says smoothly. “Would you two like to join me in the steam room?”
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Longfellow chirps.
We follow her, slipping into the foggy room. I inhale the scent of eucalyptus, then settle on one of the wooden benches. The room is empty except for the three of us.
“So, you two are enjoying a little girls’ date?” Mrs. Davis asks.
“Yes, getting some quality time with my favorite girl before she heads back to Northwestern soon,” Mrs. Longfellow says.
“Northwestern?” Mrs. Davis repeats. Her tone is pleasant, but there’s something pinched behind her eyes. “Where’s that again?”
“Chicago,” I say, already bracing.
Mrs. Davis frowns. “Oh, but that’s far.”
Mrs. Longfellow nods. “Archer doesn’t love the long distance.” She smiles faintly. “But Skye is thinking about transferring to the University of Minnesota to be with Arch.”
I suffocate the urge to roll my eyes. There are a lot of things I do Archer doesn’t love.
“You’re so lucky, Stella. Arch really won the lottery with Skye,” Mrs. Davis says. “Jake hasn’t brought anyone home. There are girls, but none he deems worthy.”
“Give it time,” Mrs. Longfellow says. “Boys take longer to grow out of the need to spread their seed.” She laughs softly, then falls silent for a moment, leaning in closer. “So, uh, I ran into Rachel yesterday at the church picnic committee meeting.”
Mrs. Davis raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, yeah?”
“She told me about your girls’ night last week.” Mrs. Longfellow’s words are heavy with meaning, though I don’t know what that is.
Mrs. Davis’s grin sharpens. “Yeah?”
Mrs. Longfellow nods. “I have to say, it sounds exceptionally intriguing.”
“You’re in luck. I’m having another one tomorrow. I’d love to have you join,” Mrs. Davis says. There’s something in her tone I can’t quite decipher.
Mrs. Longfellow inhales slowly, her tongue skimming her bottom lip. “What’s the buy-in?”
“Depends. Three hundred if you just want to watch. Six if you want to play. I take a third since I’m providing the goods,” Mrs. Davis says, flashing a smile so white it practically glows in the steam.
My brain trips. Play? They must be talking about bunco or maybe poker?
Mrs. Longfellow giggles. “Right. And does ‘play’ include… home?”
Mrs. Davis nods. “Absolutely. In any shape you like.”
Mrs. Longfellow hesitates. “It’s… tempting. But six hundred’s a lot. Is it worth it?”
“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Davis purrs. “It’s more than worth it.”
“Rachel certainly seemed to think so,” Mrs. Longfellow muses. “And it’s… discreet, right?”
“One hundred percent. If it makes you feel better, Rachel and Alicia will be there as well. Maybe even Jess. And there’s no pressure. Watching is perfectly acceptable. You could just… see how things feel.”
Mrs. Longfellow makes a face like she’s deciding whether to splurge on a new car. “Okay, count me in.”
“You got it. Bring cash, babe.” Mrs. Davis stands, steam curling around her. “I’m going to hop in the cold plunge and then go in for my facial. Skye, always lovely to see you. Stella, I’ll see you tomorrow. Swing by any time after eight, but we don’t start playing until around eleven.”
She waves once, then disappears through the fog.
I have no idea what those two were just talking about.
I arrive home to find my parents already curled up on the couch, curtains drawn and lights dimmed like we’re in a literal movie theater. A stack of takeout containers sits on the coffee table, the smell of curry and basil filling the room.
“Perfect timing,” my dad says the moment I walk into the living room. “Your mom was ready to declare famine.”
“I was not,” she protests with a laugh. “I was perfectly patient.”
“Dad brought Thai?”
“Naturally,” he says. “It’s movie night.”
“Not sure what that has to do with Thai,” I mutter, opening a container with spring rolls, then another with sticky mango rice—clearly dessert. “Last time we had movie night we had German food.”
My dad huffs. “Because we were watching Schindler’s List. You have to eat German food when you’re watching a movie about German history,” he says, pulling what looks to be soup toward him.
“Right. And what are we watching tonight?” I ask, clearly expecting something that matches the Thai theme.
“Wizard of Oz,” my mom says and grins.
I lower myself onto the sofa, laughing, while my mom slides a plate toward me, then the container with the spring rolls.
The laugh dies in my throat because suddenly I’m thinking about Boston. And the fact that he’s gone as much as three days without eating.
About the way his face fell when he realized he’d missed Cassie and Bronx—his siblings who are in foster care because their mom’s in jail and their brother can’t get an apartment.
And about how some people spend their entire lives trying to open doors that other people just get to walk through without even knocking.
Including me.
Especially me.
I’ve never had to knock. I just get to go. And I never questioned it, until I realized Boston’s still standing there.
Knocking.
“Mom?”
She glances over immediately, sensing the shift in my voice. “What is it?”
“It’s about Boston.”
That gets both their attention. My dad sets the remote down, the TV still blank. Quiet.
“He’s…” I exhale slowly, knowing what I’m about to say will shock them—and break Boston’s confidence.
But I see no way around it.
It has to be done.
“Boss is homeless.”
Right on cue, they both gasp.
Before they can start firing questions, I dive in, telling them everything I know: that he’s been homeless for the last two years, that he sleeps in his car, that his mom was arrested—this part they already knew—and that he’s trying to get custody of Cassie and Bronx.
“He’s been looking for a place,” I continue. “Something big enough for the three of them.”
My parents’ full attention is locked on me, their food abandoned in the containers.
My mom sits up straighter. “What’s the issue?”
“Credit, mostly,” I say helplessly. “He doesn’t have any credit history because… well… he was homeless for years. He finally found a place that would’ve been perfect, but they wouldn’t approve him.”
Questions come quickly after that. Most of them I don’t have answers for.
All I can offer are pieces—how hard he works, how long he’s been trying to get his siblings back, how much his family has already been through.
“You know how amazing he is, Mom. And what his family went through after Mr. Rawlings died,” I remind her. I take a deep breath because I know what comes next could change everything. Not just for Boston. For me, too.
“I have to help him.”
The words seem to settle in the room.
If Archer found out I was sitting here asking my parents to help Boston, he’d lose his mind. If Mr. Longfellow found out…
I close my eyes for a moment and breathe. My heart is thrashing in my chest like a caged animal. This is more than just crossing a line.
I’m obliterating it altogether.
“I know the Commons are for domestic violence victims. And they’re supposed to be temporary—” I say.
“NorthStar owns the Commons. And I own NorthStar,” my mom says without hesitation. “I get to decide who is welcome there and whether housing is temporary or long-term.”
I hold my breath.
She folds her hands in her lap. “I have a two-bedroom unit open right now.”
I blink.
“You mean… Mom, do you think this could work?”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. “Yeah. Maybe.”