“Did you think I wouldn’t read today’s paper?” Lucy pulled a Cool-Whip bowl from the kitchen cabinet and positioned it on her coffee table in the living room next to her sweating glass of tea. It was the third day of the apartment upstairs leaking, and despite her landlord’s promises, it had yet to be fixed. As if split into a triplex against its wishes, the old house protested with fierce regularity. Apparently the landlord didn’t care that the leak had already ruined the cover of one Brian Jacques novel and the latest issue of Vogue, a magazine she had purchased for the sole purpose of adopting a new style for Alex. Never mind that she hadn’t even opened it yet. She would’ve. Eventually. Because who didn’t want to read about purses that cost more than her car the day she bought it or earrings that elongated the neck and overloaded the credit card? “Lucy, I’m talking to you.” And then there was Morgan. “Do you smell that?” Lucy sniffed the stale air in her living room.
