Again, I’m not being fair.

Adam tells Laney the story of his encounter with Jenny as if he’s in a bar, entertaining his workmates. She must have trained her face to be impassive, because her expression doesn’t flicker.

“How did you feel about that, Rachel?” she asks.

“I was very angry,” I say calmly. “I don’t like having my marital problems broadcast.”

“It sounds like Adam was the one broadcasting.”

“I was desperate,” Adam says. “I felt like if Rachel stayed one more hour with her sister, we’d never have a chance.”

“Why?”

“Because Jenny... She never liked me.”

I give him an incredulous look. “That’s not true.”

“Well. I think she was a little jealous of Rach and me. She had this protective thing going on with Rachel—not that you needed it, babe—and when I came along, I think she felt deposed.”

“Why would she feel deposed, do you think, Adam?”

“Because Rachel loves me more,” he says simply.

I don’t respond.

“I’m sure Jenny has very strong feelings about your affair,” Laney says.

“Look,” I interject, not wanting to talk about my sister. “The point is, Adam and I are staying together. I’m tired of talking about it.”

“Me, too!” Adam says with a relieved laugh.

“Okay,” she says, her tone measured and calm. “A lot of couples want to do just that—put the event behind them. What can happen sometimes is that you think the issue has been dealt with, and then something flares back up.”

I’m tired of flares. I never used to have flares.

She gives us the old therapist pause, waiting for one of us to speak.

Neither of us does.

She must read something in my expression. “If I can be of any further use, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” My tone is terse and unfamiliar even to my own ears. New Rachel in her sexy heels, bought in the city.

Like something Emmanuelle would wear.

* * *

Later that week, when the girls are at school and Adam’s at work, I go to Bliss. As always, the beauty of my sister’s work is a sensory shock—the gleam of fabric, the sweet beauty of a neckline, the glitter of a beaded bodice. Her talent is stunning, and this shop...it’s warm and welcoming and breathtaking all at once.

As is my sister. I owe her an apology.

“Hello, Doris Day,” Andreas says.

“Hello, Rock Hudson,” I answer. “Is my sister here?”

“She’s got an appointment in fifteen minutes. Kimber, as a matter of fact. But she’s free right now.”

Jenny appears on cue. “Hey!” she says, flushing. “Come on back.”

I go into the dressing room with her, where a huge muslin dress hangs against the wall. I sit on the couch—apricot satin, something I helped pick out an eon ago, it seems. “Jenny, I’m sorry,” I say.

“I didn’t push him, Rachel. I poked him, and he tripped.”

I nod.

“So you’re back together?” she asks, focusing on something over my head.

“Yes. We’re working through it. And we’re getting there.”

She can barely look at me, and a flash of Old Rachel, that stupid softhearted idiot, clamors to get out and beg her to hug me.

“Jenny,” I say, “I need you to be okay with that. I can’t have you hating my husband and the father of my children.”

“I get that,” she says. “But don’t punish me for knowing what I know. What you told me. I can’t help hating him.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Well, I do hate Adam! He hurt you! He broke your heart!”

“So what are you going to do?” I snap. “Make my life worse because the two people I love best can’t stand each other?”

“No. No.” She takes a sharp breath, her lips tightening. “I’ll forgive him, but not because of him. Because of you. It’s going to take some time. I can’t just forgive and forget. I mean, have you forgiven Owen?”

My head jerks back. “Owen married someone else and popped out a baby. So no, I haven’t forgiven him. He didn’t see the error of his ways.” God, that sounds so sanctimonious.

“And Adam has?”

“Yes! Is that so hard to believe? I wish I hadn’t told you anything. I’m sorry I dragged you into it, but for the love of God, stop judging us. You know you’d have taken Owen back in a heartbeat. You still would.”

She tips her head in acknowledgment. “That was true for a long time. But it’s not anymore.”

“Why? Because you have a crush on Leo? Be careful there, Jenny. He’s going to break your heart next. You always see what you want to see. Don’t be naive.”

“Isn’t that a tiny bit hypocritical? You thought a crotch shot was tree fungus.”

We have never fought before. Bickered, yes, when we were teenagers, over using up all the hot water, or borrowing clothes without permission. But not like this. This is getting ugly. I can feel my heart tremble with the ugliness of it, but I don’t know what else to say.

Mercifully, Andreas knocks. “The future Mrs. Brewster is here!” he coos, and in comes Kimber, Jared’s mom and a lady I’ve never met.