The lady might as well have been singing Henry the VIII over and over again. Three days had passed since seeing Wendy at the bar and Rosie hadn’t seen her boss since. Their schedules just hadn’t allowed it, although she could admit part of it might have been on purpose.

It was Saturday, one of her days off, and she’d slept in. Full nights of sleep were rare, so she took advantage. She’d picked up her camper a little, not that it had been messy. She changed the sheets, folded some laundry, and put away dishes to pass the time. She sat outside on her makeshift patio, which consisted of a few stray Adirondack chairs and some string lights hanging around the door of the camper.

She’d fallen in love with the trailer the second she’d seen it. A few miles from town, it was well away from the hustle of downtown and the beach's tourism but close enough she could easily get to town on the bus. Surrounded by woods and trees, there wasn't a single soul around. It was on the small side, but it suited she and Gizmo just fine.

Currently, they were both sitting on the patio, she in a chair with Gizmo on her lap. She sat, enjoying not just the quiet of her surroundings but the quiet in her mind.

A few years ago, there'd been an incident. One that changed not just her hair color but her abilities as well. Auras that used to look like hints of color floating around a person were suddenly Technicolor and huge like clouds. They moved and undulated, creeping into her personal space. Spirits that used to appear once in a while became her regular companions, and her girlish dreams, the ones of youth and hope, died. Often, her sleep was like a movie reel, playing things that already happened but sometimes it showed what had yet to be.

The quiet didn't help with her dreams, but it did with the rest. 

Most of the time.

“Don’t you care about her? Don’t you care that her entire future is at stake?”

They’d been over this numerous times.

“It’s not my place, Mrs. Murphy,” she sighed, running her fingers through Gizmo’s fur. He responded by purring loudly and rubbing his head into her chest.

“Not your place. She thinks you’re her friend,” the old woman harrumphed. “Some friend.”

“I’m her employee.”

“You’re her friend, dear, whether you like it or not.”

“She’s my boss. Simple as that. Why don’t you tell her?” She turned her head to smile at the woman.

“Oh, you think you’re funny, don’t you?” Her gray hair, expertly coifed in a bun, her pink skirt set pressed to perfection, Rosie wondered if that was how she was buried. 

She knew it was. She didn't know how she knew, she just did. 

“I didn’t choose you, you know. If someone had given me the choice of all the people on earth that could hear my afterlife pleas, I would have chosen someone who cared to hear them. What good are you? Half the time you aren’t even listening to me!”

“I didn’t choose this either, you know,” Rosie told her quietly. “This isn’t exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

Honestly, she couldn’t remember ever wishing to be anything when she grew up. No dreams of becoming a teacher or a pilot. She’d always taken life as it came, never having the luxury of wishes. Besides, wishes never made things come true. They just made you hurt more when they didn’t.

“I’ll just keep bothering you until you do it. It’s imperative. She’s too trusting. She’ll never know if you don’t tell her.” The woman’s head popped up. “Such a sweet boy.” 

Then she disappeared.

Rosie turned her head and saw Wendy’s small electric car creeping up the driveway. She watched from behind her sunglasses wondering what Wendy was up to. Then it dawned on her, they’d never had the conversation Wendy wanted to have.

The little car stopped, and when the door opened, Wendy’s brother, Max, unfolded himself from the seat. He was taller than she remembered, and she didn't know if it was because she was sitting or he'd gotten out of a tiny car. Handsome, in that boy-next-door model way, he was easy to look at. His brown hair was cropped close to his head on the sides but longer on top, his caramel eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“Hey,” he greeted as if he hadn’t just shown up at her house with no warning.

Her brows drew down. “Hey. What brings you out this way?”

Before he could shut the car door, a big dog jumped out and danced around his feet, wagging its tail, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. Gizmo opened one eye and immediately dismissed the dog as a threat.

“My sister.” He shrugged. “She sent me to fetch you.”

“Fetch me?” She narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses.

“Pick you up and bring you to her place,” he corrected. “Sorry.”

His dog sniffed the ground and trotted off toward the woods. Max casually walked over and sat in a chair, an end table between them.

“Is this where you walked to the other night? Hell of a hike in the middle of the night.” He was leaning back in his chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I rode my bike.” She pointed to the adorable powder blue rig with a basket on the front. “It’s not a bad ride.”

“Dark as hell, though. I live not far from here, actually,” he told her. “You have any flashing lights on that thing?”

“You sound like your sister,” she said. “She’s always bugging me about checking the tire pressure and my brakes.”

He chuckled. “Wendy’s a mother hen.”

“Yes, she is.”

Gizmo stood on her lap and stretched, then jumped to Max’s as though he did it all the time. Max laughed again and scratched the cat behind his ears.

“Is this the famous Gizmo?”

“I didn’t realize he was famous.”

“The other night,” he clarified. “Wendy told you to say hi to Gizmo. Where’d you come up with the name? Big Gremlins fan?”

“An old friend of mine named him.”

He nodded and continued stroking the cat. “He’s a pretty cool guy, huh?” 

Rosie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Gizmo.

“What is it you were sent to fetch me for? What does Wendy have up her sleeve now?”

“She’s elbow deep in some big dinner she’s concocting for you. Didn’t have time to come steal you herself so she sent me.” He shrugged. “That’s what big sisters do. Boss their little brothers around.”

She’d almost had a baby brother once, years ago. She'd almost been a big sister. Even at seven, she’d been excited about the prospect of having a family.

“Strange,” she mused. “I wonder how she knew I didn’t already have big plans for my Saturday night.”

“It does seem presumptuous, doesn’t it?” he agreed. “I'm happy to tell her you’re busy.” He looked around at the peaceful woods surrounding them. “Maybe I’ll just call her and we can hang out here.”

“Now you’re assuming I don’t have big plans.”

He hummed his agreement but didn’t say anything, just sat there petting Gizmo. Rosie turned her attention to Max’s dog for a few minutes. It had come out of the woods, hot on the heels of a toad that was lazily hopping through a clearing. She looked from the dog to Max and then back again. She’d never encountered an animal spirit guide before. She wondered if Max ever felt the dog’s presence around him.

“What’s out there?” Max’s voice broke in quietly.

She turned her head back to him. “Huh?”

“You're staring in that direction. I just wondered what you were looking at.”

“Oh, just a toad. In that clearing.” She pointed her finger to show him.

“How the hell?” His ringing cell phone interrupted his question. “Wendy, I’m sure.”

She tuned out their conversation, not wanting to intrude. Her attention back on the dog as she idly wondered what its name was and how old it had been when it died. Why was it still with Max, and how long it had been there? She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand, watching the dog lose interest in the toad and roll in dirt.

“Rosie,” Max's voice was loud.

“Huh?” She turned to look at him.

“Sorry, I said your name a couple times.”

“Spaced out, I guess. What did Wendy say?”

“She told us to move our asses and get to her place before she ruins dinner.”

She stood. “Let me get my bag.”

“Want me to put the cat inside?”

Rosie pushed her sunglasses to rest on top of her head and made a few smooching noises. The cat jumped off Max’s lap and went inside, Rosie right behind him. She threw a few things inside her bag and stepped out.

“I don’t suppose there’s any room to put my bike,” she said after locking up.

He looked from the bike to the car. “I don’t think so, but, don’t worry about it. Like I said, I don’t live far from here. I’ll swing you home whenever you’re ready."

* * *

Rosie was quiet on the three-mile drive to his sister’s house. She turned her attention to the passing scenery, and he did his best to act cool, fearing he might startle her with any sudden moves. While Rosie didn't appear to be the type of girl who was shy or afraid to speak her mind, she had an air of uneasiness that gave her the 'flight risk" vibe. Like, if she got spooked she'd be gone before he could blink.

Don’t ask too many questions, he told himself. Definitely no questions about living in the middle of nowhere all alone with no car.

When he’d stopped by his sister’s place earlier in the afternoon to deliver a bag of fresh produce, she’d begged him to run out to Rosie's place to pick her up. Wendy said she’d tried to call, but Rosie hadn’t answered the phone. He’d half-heartedly told her he needed to get back to the farm but Wendy had patiently listened and told him to do it, anyway. 

He'd tried to pinpoint what it was about her that intrigued him so much. Was it the way she’d laughed at Dallas’s interrogation or the blush that stained her cheeks when she’d come back from the bathroom? He liked the way she’d just owned it and admitted her embarrassment. But there had been a look that crossed her face, some shadow that entered her eyes when she raised her hands and held them off from giving her a ride. It had just come across as bleak and he'd felt an ache in his chest for her.

Yesterday, he’d found himself on his hands and knees, tilling next year’s herb garden when he stared at the sky and compared the color to Rosie’s eyes. Yesterday’s sky was too blue, her eyes more crystal-like but he’d keep watching to see if he found a color that compared. He couldn't stop thinking about the bottom half of her eye, completely black and mesmerizing, and her long, whitish silver hair, wavy and all over the place. Without knowing her, he could tell Rosie wasn't a woman that primped in front of the mirror, trying to be perfect, but somehow, she just was.

The girl was wearing combat boots for heaven’s sake. You don’t get much more low-maintenance than that. Flannel shirt, skinny jeans, she might have been the poster child for casual. He was a jeans and t-shirt guy himself. Running a garden made work boots and jeans his go-to style every day of the week.

“You’re quiet,” she said as they pulled onto his sister’s street.

“Just following your lead,” he explained.

She didn’t answer, just looked back out the window. When they got to Wendy’s condo, he opened the door, letting himself right in.

“Hey,” he called out. “We’re here.”

“Come on in!” Wendy’s shout came from around the corner.

He sat himself at the island while Rosie made her way to Wendy almost warily.

“What in the world is all this?” she whispered to his sister.

Wendy’s face was beaming with pride, but Rosie's was a cross between shock and horror. He hoped like hell this wasn’t about to blow up in his sister's face.

“Well,” Wendy said in that long drawn out way of hers. “You never told me you were from Massachusetts before, that stuff wasn’t on your resume. So, I thought I’d make you dinner featuring? You guessed it, food from Massachusetts.” At Rosie’s bewildered expression, Wendy forged on with a smile. “Boston baked beans, something called a Boston boiled dinner, which is just corned beef and cabbage. That takes a long time, so I got us pastrami and coleslaw, plus I made cranberry sauce and homemade clam chowder.”

Rosie just stood, staring between Wendy, the pots bubbling on the stove and the table set for three.

“You…” She stammered.

Wendy laughed again, but Max wasn’t feeling the humor. Rosie looked like she was ready to make a beeline for the door.

“I made you dinner. Come on, let’s eat.”

“Why?” Rosie whispered.

“To see you happy.” Wendy shrugged. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Happy?”

* * *

Butch had thought she was just a little kid. He’d seemed surprised when she told him she was almost seven. After three weeks in three different foster homes, he’d shown up asking if she’d want to go home with him to live with him and his wife.

She hadn’t told him she missed her mom, and he’d never asked. Happy didn’t really want a new family, she just wanted her old one back. At least with her mom, she knew what to expect. The last few weeks, there'd been so many people wanting different things all the time. In one house, she was always supposed to take her dirty dishes to the sink. In another, she wasn’t allowed to touch the real dishes, let alone eat off them. In another, they ate frozen meals that came with their own plates. In one, she was supposed to shower in the morning and another at night. One of the houses had six other kids and some of them were mean. Really mean. When she had been staying there, she'd been too afraid to sleep at night.

“Come on, Happy.” Butch knelt down so he was looking right at her. “You’d have your own room. There are no other kids, just me and Erin. The school is right down the block. You could ride a bike.”

“I don’t know how to ride a bike,” she told him.

Butch coughed into his hand and looked away for a second before turning back to her. “I’ll teach you, kid.”

“I don’t have a bike anyways.”

“We’ll get you one,” he promised.

She took a deep breath. “What happens when my mom gets out of jail?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But, until then, if you want, you can come live with us.”

“What if you decide you don’t like me? Will you send me back?”

Butch held her skinny shoulders. “We’ll never send you back, Happy. You’ll always have a home with us. I promise.”

“Why?”

“We just want to see you happy.”

* * *

“Rosie?” The voice broke in and Rosie shook off the memory.

“I’m sorry.” She held up a hand and looked around. “Of course I’m happy. This is too much, Wendy. You’re too much.”

She pushed Butch and Erin Hardy as far away as possible and concentrated on the here and now.

Wendy let out a breath and held her chest. “You scared me for a second.”

“I’m sorry.” Rosie forced a laugh. “This is just too much. I can’t believe you did all this.”

She sat at the table and tried to let the camaraderie of the funky dinner and friendly people ease her mind. Things were mostly quiet in her world, save the one obnoxious elderly spirit that nagged the ever-loving shit out of her.

Through pastrami, coleslaw and beans the woman harped on her. Through chowder and cranberry sauce, she nagged.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” Rosie told Wendy.

“I can’t either. Why would she bother with someone who so obviously doesn’t care about her?”

“I didn’t mind,” Wendy said at the same time, muddling both comments. “It was actually kind of fun.”

“Do you have any idea how hard she worked to build her company? Her reputation?”

“I think shucking the clams was the hardest.”

“I told her to buy frozen,” Max said.

“Years of work and you’ll let it all go down the drain. For what?”

“I think living up north would be fun. What kind of food do people think of when you say Florida?”

"Seafood," Rosie answered.

“Blue crab,” Wendy ventured.

“Oranges,” Rosie added.

“I love oranges,” Max admitted. “Grapefruit too.”

“Alligator.” Wendy and Max both looked at her skeptically. “What? You’ve both lived here your whole lives. Don’t tell me you haven’t tried alligator.”

“Never,” Wendy laughed. “There's a line, and that’s over it.”

“Yeah, I’m with her,” Max chuckled.

Rosie shrugged. “Tastes like chicken.”

“Tastes like deceit. Betrayal. Humiliation. Financial ruin.”

She mentally rolled her eyes as Wendy and Max laughed.

“Let me clean up. You did all the cooking.” She stood and began collecting plates.

“No.” Wendy waved her away. “No. I invited you, I’ll deal with cleanup later. For now, we have coffee and Boston Cream Pie.”

“Coffee and lies, is more like it,” Grandma grouched.

Rosie sat quietly while Wendy brought pie and coffee to the table.

“You okay?” Max asked, his voice low.

She turned and found his green aura pulsing with pink. Pink could represent love, but it also denoted sincerity and friendship. 

 “Yeah, why?” she asked.

He quirked his mouth in a way that drew her attention. She had to pull her eyes away.

“You have this thing,” he waved in the general direction of her forehead, “going on here that screams stress.”

“Stress,” Grandma Murphy repeated indignantly. “It’s guilt, honey. Don’t let that pretty face fool you.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” She took another deep breath and tried to let some of the bad energy go.

“You say that a lot, you know,” he remarked. “That you’re fine.”

“Fine and dandy, letting her best friend go on living a lie. How do you live with yourself? How do you sleep at night?”

“Pie!” Wendy sang as she set the pastry down.

“No wonder you’re all alone. Is this how you cared for your family? Did you leave them all to fail while you went on like nothing was wrong?”

When she held out her mug, her hand shook too much for Wendy to get any coffee in it. Without a word, Max reached out and put his hand over hers, steadying her.

“What’s that? Is your conscience getting to you?” 

“I’ve never made a cream pie before,” Wendy and her grandmother spoke at the same time.

"What a waste, making a pie for her," Grandma said as Rosie wiped the sweat off her upper lip, her hand still shaking.

“Remember the pie Mom and Dad tried to make a few years ago?” Max asked Wendy.

“What a disaster. Remember smiling through the whole thing, even though it was so awful we could barely swallow it?”

“Disaster. That’s what you’re leading her to.” 

“I’ve never made a pie before,” she told them, her voice wobbling. “Is it a lot of work?”

Again, the women spoke at the same time.

“The crust is the most work, but I was surprised how much went into the pastry cream.”

“Not as much work as building a company and losing it all because of one selfish employee.”

That was it, Rosie decided. She couldn’t do it anymore. The old hag was right. As much as she tried to distance herself from Wendy and say she was only her boss, that wasn’t quite the truth. She cared for Wendy, even if she didn’t have any plans to let the woman into her life. She cared enough that Wendy deserved to hear the truth.

“Tell her, Rosie. Tell her the truth.”

Rosie looked at Max and Wendy, hating to break the mood but having to tell the truth. Even knowing telling the truth never gained her anything in life. If anything, it had been the opposite, the truth taking everything from her. Over and over again, the truth had done nothing but destroy her, but Wendy deserved more.

“Lisa’s been stealing from you,” she blurted.