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Megan rolled her eyes. She knew Cindy well enough to read the meaning behind that one word Oh. She was actually saying, “Oh, why you didn’t tell me?”

“Sorry, Cindy,” Megan said aloud. “You’re not on a need-to-know basis anymore.”

Do you want to maybe meet for coffee?

Frowning, Megan re-read the text, buying time. On the one hand, she had gotten herself pretty stoked about doing her hermit dork thing and staying in her room. It meant she got to take off her bra, change into some comfy clothes…

On the other hand, she did come all the way to Coachella to lend some sort of emotional support to Cindy.

“God damn it,” Megan muttered, typing.

Sure. But I’m done with driving for the day. I’m at the Indian Palms in Indio. There’s a coffeeshop downstairs.

Cool! In 30?

30. See you then.

***

“You look better rested,” Megan told Cindy, after Cindy sat down at the table Megan had secured in the hotel’s cafe ten minutes earlier. Megan had ordered already for both of them. Cindy only ever drank black coffee and so Megan had a large one of those waiting for her ex while she had her usual Americano.

Cindy did look better than she had a few days ago. The bags under her eyes were gone, her skin looked fresh, and her hair was washed and pulled into a messy bun. She was dressed all in black, but not in a mourning kind of way: black skinny jeans, black flip-flops and a black V-neck halter top with an open back. Megan wondered if Cindy had chosen that top on purpose. When they had been together, that top had been Megan’s favorite to see on her girlfriend…

“I took your advice,” Cindy said after thanking Megan for the coffee. “I let go of carrying the burden solo and let my family help me. It’s been a relief.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Megan prodded.

The tips of Cindy’s lips curled upward in a tentative smile.

“Buuut, there’s been a lot to do, you know? And even though they’re helping…” she used air quotes to mark the word helping “…I keep having to double-check the stuff they’re helping me with. Oh, and don’t even get me started on keeping them out of the bungalow.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh my God, Megs,” Cindy began with a sigh, and the use of her pet name for Megan felt oddly comfortable, but Megan had no time to unpack that and, shaking her head, she kept it at bay.

“They were like vultures,” Cindy continued. “From the first day they were here, it was all about pointing to Mom’s possessions and saying, ‘I want this!’ and ‘Oh, Carole said I could have this!’ and ‘Can I take this back home with me?’”

“No!” and Megan felt real anger bubbling up inside her.

“Yeah! I couldn’t believe it!”

Megan could see Cindy’s eyes watering, though no tears fell yet. Her hand flinched, wanting, seemingly on its own accord, to reach for Cindy’s hand. Megan had overridden the impulse but then remembered why she was here, and so she let her hand take Cindy’s and give a comforting squeeze.

For a moment, Cindy said nothing, just stared at Megan’s hand in her own. Then she seemed to gather herself and said, “Fortunately, I have the law on my side. Mom left a will. I met with the lawyer on Tuesday and turns out she left everything to me: the bungalow, the contents, everything. And since I have the only key to the place, I’ve managed to keep everyone else out easily enough. Still, though…it’s just

one more thing.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Megan asked.

Cindy smiled and squeezed Megan’s hand.

“You’re already doing it,” Cindy answered. “This is all I need you for now, providing an escape from the madness.” She lifted her coffee. “And more caffeine.”

Megan gently disengaged her hand from Cindy’s.

“What’s wrong?” Cindy asked.

Megan took a deep breath before saying, “What I want to know is, where is your man in all this? Why isn’t he helping you deal with…well, everything? You haven’t mentioned him once and it’s pissing me off that you’ve apparently been abandoned to handle all of this alone.” Her voice took on a steely edge. “What was his name? Donald? Ronald?”