“Government cheese,” Toby ground out over my mother’s voice in my head.

I closed my eyes.

“Johnny showed me the pictures of you, in the tack room at their place,” Toby told me.

I opened my eyes.

“The pictures of you three and the horse,” he carried on. “It was after I showed him the ring Margot and I got you. We made a pact, Johnny and me. Never again, Addie.”

I looked to him. “What are you talking about?”

“Your day out with your mom when you were kids. Plastic shoes. Home-done haircuts.”

I wanted to smile because I remembered those pictures.

And that day.

We’d had a blast.

“You and your sister will never suffer again, Adeline. Not ever fucking again.”

Oh God.

My man.

“Tobe,” I said softly.

“Never again, Addie. Especially not at the hands of that fucking man.”

“We were happy.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m a millionaire now,” I reminded him.

Well . . . ish.

Did one million make you a millionaire?

I didn’t ask that of Toby.

Though I wasn’t done speaking.

But Toby got there before me.

“You were a millionaire when you walked in there, Adeline. My ring, my bed, our kid, our money.”

You could hear the hiss of breath that I took in at that.

“But that’s now,” Toby said. “Six months ago, you couldn’t afford Christmas presents for your baby.”

“What I mean is, I’m a millionaire now, and so are you, but what I said on Christmas day stands. And my mother taught me that. You, our kid, our dog, our bed, and well, now . . . our cat, and I’m good. It’s always been that way. All I needed was Mom and Izzy. Then Brooks.” I reached out to wrap my hand around his thigh. “I’ve always been rich, Toby. You know what my mom would ask when we were doing Sunday facials or sitting under the stars or eating some crazy recipe she made of lentils that tasted great and we’d be giggling and all happy?”

“What’d she ask?”

“‘I wonder what the poor people are doing?’”

His hand covered the back of mine, his fingers curling around.

“That was Daphne,” I said softly. “And I’m Daphne. And I have Brooks and you, Izzy, Johnny, Margot, Dave. Do you think anything can hurt me? Do you think Daphne ever let him really hurt me? I grew up the richest girl in the world. And that shit just keeps coming.”

“Granite and steel,” he muttered.

I wasn’t sure I got him.

I still said, “Yeah.”

He drove.

After a while, I looked forward and rode.

But I didn’t move my hand.

There was a long silence.

Toby broke it.

“If he or his wife give it a shot, you gonna let him in?”

“I’m gonna talk with Izzy and Margot, and then you, and decide.”

“All right, baby.”

He again drove.

And I rode.

I broke that silence.

“Thanks for coming with me, honey.”

His hand gave mine a firm squeeze.

“Shut it, Lollipop.”

I stared out the windshield.

And I smiled.

Toby

Two Weeks and One Day Later . . .

The women were seated, huddled, two blonde heads only the men who loved them could tell apart, a stylish black hairdo and a head covered in a silk scarf.

The men were not seated.

All of them were standing, shoulders against the wall, arms crossed on their chests, in a row.

Johnny, Dave, Toby and Charlie.

Brooks was outside with a sixteen-year-old named Lauren who he’d fallen in love with during their occasional times together the last three months.

Izzy’s cell on speakerphone, sitting on Margot and Dave’s coffee table, a phone that could not be seen due to the women hovering over it, was ringing.

A woman’s voice answered.

“Hello? Yes? Is this Eliza and Adeline?”

She sounded nervous.

Shit.

“Yes, uh . . . Fonda, it’s me and Addie,” Izzy replied.

Shit.

“Okay, okay, well . . . hi.”

“Hi,” Iz said.

“Hi,” Addie said.

“Okay, well, we really weren’t expecting . . . I mean, the lawyers called last week to share you wanted contact, so we had time. But we so weren’t expecting . . . I mean, it was such a surprise, we’re . . .” She stopped babbling and stated, “We’re very happy you reached out. Your father is very happy that you girls reached out.”

A noise rolled up Toby’s throat.

Addie’s hair skidded across her back as she looked over her shoulder at him.

Love you, she mouthed. It’s okay.

He grunted.

Through this, Fonda was talking.

“He’s . . . I hope you can imagine, he’s very nervous. He’s not even in the room, he’s so freaked out.”

“We’re nervous too,” Addie turned back to tell her.

“I don’t know what to say,” Fonda admitted. “I don’t want to offend you girls in any way. It would be bad if I said something stupid and unintentionally . . .” She trailed off then instantly started back in, “But, well, Harley . . . he’s been lost. Since I met him, just lost. Lost without you. Lost without your mom. Even with me, he . . . I’m not sure, well, God, this is so hard.”

“Just speak your words, Fonda,” Izzy urged gently.

“Okay,” Fonda replied hesitantly. “I’m just not sure since it’s been so long that he could get used to being found.” Her voice dropped. “He has your picture. A picture of you girls with your mom. He carries it in his wallet. He carries it everywhere. As long as I’ve known him, he’s had that picture. And I’ve known him twenty years.”

“Motherfucker,” Johnny said under his breath.

Fortunately, he did it low enough none of the women looked to him.

That was none but Margot, who lifted her squinty eyes to Johnny in a clear communication of shut the fuck up.

Without the F-word, obviously, but with the emphasis it provided.

“He loved her,” Fonda shared quietly. “He loved her very, very much.”

Motherfucker.

“That couldn’t have been easy on you,” Addie noted.

“I didn’t mind, she was beautiful. You were beautiful. You are beautiful,” Fonda said. Then again quiet, “It’s not bad to have a man who can love like that.”

Fantastic.

The woman sounded sincere.

“It was issues with his dad,” she told the sisters. “I know that doesn’t excuse it. I’d never try to excuse it. Harley either. He definitely wouldn’t. But it was issues with his dad. His father wanted him to take over the hardware stores. Only child, a son, he was far from happy Harley wanted to be a musician. Thought he was a momma’s boy and shared he thought that, well, really frequently. He felt pressure to make something of himself. Pressure to prove his dad wrong. And he was . . . he was young and feeling things he couldn’t . . . God, it sounds like I’m making excuses when I’m not. I’m really not. I just . . . he might not tell you this because he won’t want you to think . . . I just thought you might . . . you should know.”