Page 29 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

“When that tree fell on my car and Ryker’s dog disappeared and the glitch happened with Hudson’s tuition and he had to reregister for fall classes but couldn’t get into half of them that he needs and the toilet backed up in Daph’s apartment and we were without water for almost two full days? ” Bea says.

I make another noise. “Good grief, when did this start?”

“The week before you got me tossed in the slammer.”

“ All of that happened within a week?”

“Yep. Probably something with Griff too, and he’s just not telling me, but honestly, he’s twenty-three and a professional athlete. If he can’t handle himself now, I made a lot of mistakes.”

“Having met your two other brothers, I’m certain you did a wonderful job with the third as well.”

“Someone will betray you,” Madame Petty announces, interrupting us.

“Shocking,” Bea replies. “That’s so out of line with everything else that’s happened lately.”

“Someone close to you,” Madame Petty continues.

“Like Daphne?”

“I see a man…”

They both look at me.

Even when I can’t see well, I can see that they’re looking at me.

“He distrusts the world… It has been cruel to him…”

Ah, she’s not referencing me.

She must be referencing someone else.

I don’t distrust the world. Merely several parts of it. And it’s been no more cruel to me than it has to other people.

I daresay it’s been worse to Bea.

Especially lately.

“What’s his sign?” Bea asks.

I nearly choke again, but this time, for trying not to laugh at her dry delivery.

She’s quite funny, this one.

But Madame Petty doesn’t hesitate with her answer. “He is a Scorpio.”

Again, they both look at me.

As though they are aware that my birthday is in early November and assume that it must be me.

Actually, it’s likely that Bea would know my birthday if she knew I was lactose intolerant. “Fully eight percent of the population must be Scorpio, if my maths are correct.”

“It’s closer to ten percent,” Bea says. “Scorpios are born nine months after Valentine’s Day, so it’s one of the most prevalent astrological signs.”

I did not need to think about when my parents might have conceived me.

Given how much they dislike one another and their penchant for having affairs, I’ve decided I’m not even biologically related to my father.

The idea gives me peace.

Most of the time.

“You’re a Capricorn, are you not, Bea?” Madame Petty says.

“No idea,” Bea replies.

“You know the most common astrological sign but not your own?”

“I’m complicated like that.”

She’s amusing is what she is. Amusing, and quick-witted, and utterly lovely.

“I sense that you are a Capricorn,” Madame Petty says.

“You could just ask me what my birthday is.”

“It’s more enjoyable to guess based on your aura. And your aura says Capricorn.”

“I’ve always wanted to identify as a Leo though. I love the idea of being a lioness.”

Before I can agree that she’d make the best lioness, Madame Petty is speaking again.

“Capricorns and Scorpios make excellent partners. Until they don’t.”

“That tends to be the life cycle of every relationship that ends, which are most of them when you think about it.”

“Did you two attend school together when you were younger?” I ask. “I would never claim to be psychic, but I do detect something of a history between you.”

Something bigger than what Bea told me outside.

“I’m fifty-eight,” Madame Petty says.

“She’s twenty-four,” Bea tells me. “And she has a history of wrecking hearts.”

I wish I could clearly see the expression Madame Petty is aiming at Bea right now.

I’d like to know if I need to call Pinky back into the tent.

“I no longer acknowledge my earthly age, but rather my soul age,” the fortune teller says. “Now you, Mr. Luckwood. You will be very, very lonely in the near future.”

Bah. I smile in her direction. “It happens from time to time.”

“Not like this.”

“And I shall get through it.”

“Not like this.”

“My boys?—”

Madame Petty cuts me off with an ominous noise that has me pausing.

I’ve been lonesome before. Regularly when I’ve been on set filming away from the boys.

And away from Lana.

She is my best friend.

As best of a friend as I’ve ever allowed myself to have.

But this sounds as though the fortune teller is warning me that I’m in danger of losing all of them.

“My boys and I talk every day when I travel for work,” I say.

She clucks her tongue. “Oh, they are definitely not gonna be on your side here.”

Bea shifts beside me. “Do you ever give positive fortunes?”

“Have you not met this world, Bea?” Madame Petty replies. “It’s dark and tragic and no one is immune forever. And having misfortunes in your past doesn’t make you immune to more hardships in the future.”

“Is it so wrong to let people live with hope?”

“When there is hope to be had, I share the hope.”

“Or you can’t see the hope. Or don’t want to, because you know darkness sells.”

“Darkness is reality.”

“But we don’t all need it lurking around every corner.

If I’d known my parents were going to die—no.

Actually, no, I can’t even imagine that.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about knowing my parents were going to die without being able to do anything to stop it.

That would’ve been worse than suddenly losing them.

I don’t want to be afraid something will happen to my brothers all the time.

I don’t want to worry that Daph won’t come home one day. I?—”

“Oh, Daphne is definitely not going to come home one day.”

I clear my throat as I reach for Bea’s hand and squeeze it.

She’s breathing quickly. Just as she was when I pulled her out of the toilet last night. “Ah, perhaps we’ve had enough fortunes for one day?”

She squeezes my hand back, and something odd happens in my chest.

Something that feels disturbingly like protective instincts roaring to life.

The bitter taste of guilt floods my mouth.

More changes need to be made to my script.

She cannot ever suspect she was the inspiration for it.

That I might be the person Madame Petty suggests will betray her.

I could stay angry with Bea for the situation she put me in, but I don’t wish to.

She apologized.

She made me dinner.

She leaked zero photographs of the events that transpired in her burger bus.

She told me upfront today that her ex wants her back.

Madame Petty pulls a trinket from her shelf. “Your children will get a dog,” she says to me. Then she looks at Bea. “And your brothers will live long, happy lives, and all four of you will have children.”

“I’m not having kids,” Bea says quietly.

“I’m merely telling you what the spirits are telling me. Take it up with them if you don’t believe it.”

“My boys would love a dog,” I interject. “Marvelous idea. Thank you, Madame Petty.”

“Tell Daphne not to do anything stupid,” she says to Bea.

“Sure,” Bea replies, though her tone says she will definitely not be passing along the message.

“I’m so for real right now. She’s going to do something stupid, and it might cost her everything.”

“You’re a few years too late. Some people might not learn their lessons, but Daphne? She’s not doing anything to fuck her life up again. She’s finally happy. She’s finally at peace. Leave her alone and let her stay that way. She’s earned it.”

Madame Petty sighs.

Bea’s squeezing my hand hard enough to cut off circulation.

And more guilt joins the first round of guilt.

I badgered her into this.

“I’m suddenly craving a steak pie. Bea, did I see a truck selling pies?”

She looks at me as though she knows exactly what I’m doing.

Deflecting.

“They’re sweet. Not savory. And probably closed up for the day.”

“I see them reopening for a celebrity request,” Madame Petty says.

Even in the semidarkness, with my terrible night vision, I see Bea roll her eyes.

I smile at her. “I quite agree,” I murmur.

And then I rise, still holding her hand. “Our gratitude for your services, Madame Petty. Do enjoy the rest of your day.”

“That’s fifty bucks each,” she says.

Bea makes a noise that her brothers are likely familiar with from times that they frustrated her. “Your sign says ten.”

“That’s for people who don’t argue about disliking their first fortune.”

I see to it that she’s paid—it never hurts to not anger a fortune teller—and then follow Bea back out into the sunshine.

“Apologies,” I murmur. “You were rather spot-on with your expectations.”

She rolls her shoulders back. “I’m an easy mark in there.”

“Do people often take advantage of your life tragedies?”

She slides a long, slow glance at me that has sweat breaking out at the base of my neck.

As though she’s aware that I too am essentially taking advantage of the tragedies of her life.

But her answer—her answer is even worse than I could’ve anticipated.

“I’ve never thought of it exactly that way before, but yes. Yes, I think you’ve just described why every boyfriend I’ve had in the past decade noticed me.”

Wonderful.

Fabulous job, old boy.

You’re using her life tragedies, and you’ve suddenly busted her rose-colored glasses.

I turn us toward the games. “Perhaps you live in a place where people care more than they take advantage. This is a lovely town. And I’ve only begun exploring it.”

She’s quiet as she turns to head in the direction of a familiar laugh rising above the rest of the noise.

My boys are clearly having the time of their lives.

I hustle to follow Bea, worried that I’ve ruined the day for her.

“Another cake, Mum!”

“We’ll be sugared up into the next millennia!”

Bea smiles softly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Are you quite all right?” I inquire. “I shouldn’t have pushed?—”

She glances around, then stops short of entering the rows of carnival games. “What are you doing, Simon?”

“What am I doing?” I echo dumbly. I’m well aware of what she’s asking, but I don’t have an answer.

Nothing beyond enjoying your company , which is the wrong answer for all of us.

For many, many reasons.