“But that’s nice, isn’t it?” Emily asked. She took in Sara’s glare. “Okay, so not nice?”

“The f-word? Are you kidding me? I gave her the best two years of my life.” Sara picked up the pan, and with a jerk of her wrist, flipped a crepe and then slammed the pan back down on the stove. “Whatever. It’s done. I’m over her.”

“Clearly. Maybe if you told me why you broke up with her—”

“Bring it up again and no crepes for you.” Sara expertly deposited the crepe onto a plate and poured more batter into the pan. “So back to the torn panties and the man in our house.”

“I’m pleading the fifth,” Emily said.

“So I suppose you don’t want to discuss the whisker burn on your throat then, either.”

Emily tightened her scarf. “Don’t make me block your texts and calls.”

Sara’s sharp gaze landed on her. “That bad?”

More like that good. . . “Um . . .”

Sara studied her for a heartbeat, and then smiled. “You’ve extended the one-night stand. Nice.”

Emily plopped to a chair, set her elbows on the table, and dropped her forehead into her hands. “No. Not nice.”

“You still dig him.”

“No. Maybe.” She sighed. “I don’t want to dig him or his sexy self. But I keep losing my clothes when I’m with him. I was even wearing my Mickey Mouse pj’s and he liked them.”

Sara laughed. “You know, maybe these slut moments of yours are your body’s way of saying you need to loosen up.”

“Well, I can’t get much looser!”

Sara’s smile faded. “That’s not true. You’re still wound pretty tight.”

“Yes, because I’m trying to adapt to this latest side trip from my plan,” Emily said.

“Oh, for God’s sake. How many times do I have to tell you? Screw the plan, Emily. Life can’t be lived off a damn plan, babe.”

“Yes, it can,” Emily protested. “You have to dream it to live it, babe, and I have the dream all figured out.”

“Right,” Sara deadpanned. “L.A. Taking care of Dad. Some version of the John . . . There are so many stupid things wrong with your plan, I don’t know where to start.”

“Name one thing wrong with it,” Emily said.

“Going back to Los Angeles to try to reconnect with a guy who doesn’t even care what you’ve been up to? I mean, it’d be one thing if he’d called, e-mailed . . . texted.”

It was uncomfortably close to what Wyatt had voiced to her. “I can kill my own spiders.”

“Huh?” Sara asked.

“Never mind!”

“Listen, Em. Working at some fancy vet clinic isn’t the right dream for you.”

“Oh, but hiding out in Idaho and pretending all is well while hammering nails is?” Emily asked.

Sara stared at her, then turned off the stove and walked out of the kitchen.

Emily turned and looked over at Q-Tip, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs like she owned it.

Q-Tip gave her a long, slow, you-are-an-idiot blink with her yellow eyes. Emily sighed. Thunked her head on the table a few times—which didn’t help much—and got up, following Sara into their small living room. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“Not really, since it’s the truth.” Sara had plopped onto the couch, feet up on the coffee table, her boots still on.

Emily bit her tongue over that, moved to the end of the couch, lifted Sara’s feet and dropped them to the floor. Then she sat, too.

Sara sighed and set her head on Emily’s shoulder. “I’m hiding out rather than face my stupid heart. Happy now? And you’ve been charging forward ever since—”

Emily shut her eyes. “Don’t.”

“—Mom died,” Sara finished.

Emily felt the stab of pain behind her left breast. It was a familiar pain by now. At first, after the funeral, she’d actually thought she was having a heart attack. In a very scary round of tests at the ER, she’d learned that anxiety could present like that.

Humiliating. Especially since Emily had refused to believe it at first. She wasn’t an anxious person. She was a person who missed her mom like she’d miss a damn limb. That was all. It was pure grief, and that it could manifest itself so powerfully, in such a physical way had left her feeling weak and even more unhappy.

So she’d read some books and learned that making definite plans was one good way to cope.

So that’s what she’d done.

She’d made some damn plans. “There’s nothing wrong with charging forward with your life,” she said.

“But it’s like you’re on a mission to live your life perfectly, without regrets,” Sara said. “But Emily, regrets are a damn way of life.”

“I know that. I’m living with that.”

“What regrets do you have?” Sara asked.

Laying her head back against the couch, she stared up at the ceiling. They had some cobwebs up there. Hopefully no spiders.

“Em?”

“I regret that Mom died so young.”

“I know,” Sara said. “We all regret that. But she gave us a lifetime of love. Remember what she always told us? Follow your heart, cuz a heart’s never wrong.”

Emily smiled, but it slowly faded. “I just meant that I hate she died without having anything to show for her life.”

“Nothing to show for her life?” Sara asked incredulously. “She loved her life.”

“We were poor, Sara. Dirt poor. Our apartment—”

“Was her home, and we were her life. She didn’t care about anything else. And I’m sorry, but you disrespect her memory by suggesting otherwise.”

Emily got that, she really did, but Sara hadn’t been around. Only Emily had known how much Mom had suffered in the end. “She could have had more. Dad—”

“Taught us to love ourselves and every other living creature. Sure, he’s a damn tree hugger, and he’d save a rattlesnake if it crossed his path, but hey, snakes are people, too.”

Emily choked out a laugh. “Face it, he could have provided better if he wanted to, Sara. He chose to spend most of his time at the shelters.”

“Yeah, well, he does have a real savior complex.” Sara slid her a look. “Like someone else I know.”

“Not me,” Emily said just as Q-Tip leapt into her lap for a rare nuzzle.

Sara laughed. “The apple never falls far from the tree.”

“Not true,” Emily argued. “Dad would save a damn ant crossing his path on the sidewalk.”

“Hello,” Sara said. “Have you met you? You had an ant collection when you were young and named each and every one of them. And Sassy. Remember Sassy? She was the bird you found on our back porch, the one who’d fallen out of a tree. You fed it baby food and made her a new nest on the ground until she could fly again. And how about Stinky, the baby skunk you rescued? You laid down the law, threatened to sleep outside in the grass alongside of him if Dad didn’t let you keep him.”

Emily stared at her. “That was different.”

“How?”

She squirmed a little. “Well, for one thing, I was a kid. I never did anything to the detriment of my family.”

“If that’s how you’re remembering things,” Sara said, “I don’t think we grew up in the same house.”

Emily blew out a breath.

“We always had a roof over our head. And food.”

Barely . . . But she knew Sara couldn’t ever really understand because she’d already been at college when the MS kicked in, leaving their mom unable to care for herself. Most people took for granted being able to do for themselves, but that had been cruelly wrestled away from the woman who’d always prided herself on her independence. The simple act of getting bathed, dressed, doing her hair, feeding her, everything, had fallen to others.

Emily’s dad had been drowning in his own grief knowing he was going to lose his wife, and as he had all his life when things got tough, he’d worked. Twenty-four seven. Whatever it took to keep him from having to face the truth. “You weren’t there when it got bad, you were in Chicago getting your PhD in philosophy,” Emily said.

“I know.” Sara sighed. “I’d call and Mom just kept saying she was fine, that I didn’t have to come home.”