Page 72 of Made for Mayhem

Below it was a link to a YouTube video showing how to repair a porch almost identical to mine.

The longer I stared at it, the easier it was to grin.

“Thank you.”

Ty just nodded, then rolled down the driveway.

“BYE DIZZY! LOVE YOU!” Junie called out the window.

“TO THE MOON!” I yelled back, blowing her a kiss.

As soon as the words left my mouth, my phone fell from my hands, landing on the grass.

Such simple words, and yet saying Violet’s and my phrase without her felt like I’d taken a blow to the chest.

Not now.

Not now.

Not now.

My hands shook as I looked at my phone, focusing on it instead.

Eventually, I breathed again, and I threw myself into fixing the porch. That was something tangible, and that was easier than unpacking my emotions.

The mismatched boards didn’t line up perfectly, and the stain I picked was a shade too bright. I didn’t realize until it was too late that I should have power washed the rest down and re-stained it all to match, but that was a later-me problem.

I couldn’t go back inside, though.

Not today.

Every time I got close to the door, my chest went tight, feeling every inch of Violet’s loss all over again.

Luckily for me, there wasn’t much time to dwell on it. For such a little town, Linwood stayed busy. Between Emmy stopping by with every single one of Junie’s favorite foods she just happened to “buy too much of,” Beckett showing up to talk hockey and somehow ending up grilling in the backyard, and the entire Mayhem crew making frequent appearances to see Piggie Smalls, the house was rarely quiet.

I kept avoiding the paperwork I needed to fill out and ignoring the emails from the funeral home. Junie was safe, and that was all that mattered. I could keep breathing, keep living, even though it felt like the hole in my chest was growing with each shallow inhale.

As long as I kept moving, I was okay.

Which was how I found myself standing in front of Emmy’s Pilates studio the following Tuesday night, heart pounding harder than it should have over something as simple as Girl’s Night.

“Holy shit, you’re here!” a woman I hadn’t met yet shrieked as I walked through the glass doors into the studio. Her dark blonde hair was in a high ponytail, and she wore bike shorts and an oversized tee that said World’s Okayest Mom. She bounced on her socked feet, clapping her hands in front of her chest in excitement, then shoved her hand forward to shake. “I’m Stevie, and I have been waiting patiently to meet you.”

“Patient?” another woman said from behind the front desk, her black hair covering most of her pale features. “You got here two hours early and have mentioned Daisy twenty-seven times.” She pointed a long, black fingernail at a tally on a piece of paper, then slid it across the desk.

Stevie’s shoulders dropped, and she rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Shannon.”

“Facts don’t care about your feelings,” Shannon said dryly, the corners of her dark-painted mouth twitching. She wore ripped black jeans, a Slipknot tee, and enough gold jewelry to set off every airport scanner in the state.

“Wait,” I said, looking at her more closely. “Did you grow up here? You look so familiar.”

Shannon stared at me for a beat, her grey eyes focused on me. “I did. Did you?”

“Only in the summer.”

She slapped the desk, then gave me a crooked grin. “Yes. Holy shit, Daisy. Why didn’t I put that together?”

“Wait,” Stevie said, “You know each other?”