Page 17 of She’s Worth the Risk

“No.” Poppy shakes her head, turning up Gran’s stoop with the others. “I need to get out of the house. Even if out of the house is literally just next door.” She glances up and spots me hovering on Gran’s doorstep, her pretty face breaking into a smile. “Oh, hi! I didn’t see you, sorry. You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t slept in months.” She reaches my side, and up close I notice the dark circles under her eyes.

I smile. “Of course. I’m Zinnia, we spoke on the phone?”

“Yes!” She grins. “It’s great to finally meet you. Sylvia’s told me so much about you.”

Gran’s front door swings open, and she smiles, the creases deepening around her eyes as she finds the four of us there. “Girls! What a lovely surprise.”

“I’ve got the cupcakes, Mrs. Sinclair,” Poppy says, and Gran waves a hand.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Sylvia?” She shakes her head in mock disapproval. “And they tell me my hearing is going.”

The women laugh, and I glance at Gran.

“What are the cupcakes for?”

“I’m having the ladies around for book club while you’re out at life-drawing class tomorrow night,” she says, taking the box from Poppy.

Guilt swirls through me as I think about the class. About modeling, while Gran thinks I’m drawing.

Her gaze moves to Violet, leaning against the railing, belly protruding in her summer dress, sweat beading along her hairline in the July heat. “Oh, look at you, dear. Come in and take a seat. All of you.”

Poppy glances at the baby monitor on her chest. “I could stay for a couple minutes.”

“Excellent.” Gran steps aside, ushering us into the foyer. “I’ll pour some iced tea.”

I set my bag down. “Let me help, Gran.”

She shoots me one of her looks that says she doesn’t want me hovering, and I lift my hands in surrender. As she disappears into the kitchen, I lead the others through to the living room, motioning for them to take a seat. Poppy and Iris settle into two wing-backed armchairs, and Violet practically falls onto the sofa beside me, making an awful “Oof” sound as she does.

Poppy glances at the door to Gran’s kitchen, where she’s bustling about on the other side, then leans closer, lowering her voice. “I’ve been a little worried about Sylvia lately.”

“Really?” I ask, thinking back over the past week. “She seems fine. Better than fine.”

“Right…” Poppy chews her bottom lip. “Well, you know her better than me. I don’t want to stick my nose in, but I noticed a few little things that made me pause.”

I frown. “Like what?”

“You know, mixing up days of the week. Leaving her front door open. Forgetting her keys.”

My mind flashes to that bunch of tulips in murky water on the hall table. After a week Gran still hadn’t noticed them, and I ended up throwing them in the trash this morning.

But that’s nothing, right?

“Wyatt and I are more than happy to help,” Poppy says quickly, touching my knee. “We keep a spare set of keys at our place, and he makes sure to check that Sylvia has locked the front door before we go to bed. He also comes over to tidy her yard once a month.”

I lift a hand to my chest, touched. I don’t even know these people, and they’re going out of their way to look after Gran.

“But I thought maybe her family should know,” Poppy adds.

“Well, thanks,” I say at last. “I haven’t seen anything like that, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

Gran enters with a tray of drinks, and I almost rise to help her, then remember that look she gave me. How can Poppy be worried when Gran is more independent than I’ve ever seen her?

“Thanks, Mrs. Sinclair,” Iris says, taking a drink from the tray. Gran shoots her the same look she shot me, and Iris laughs. “Sylvia,” she corrects.

I hand a drink to Violet, who’s making no attempt to reach for one, likely because she seems to have finally found a comfortable position.

“Thanks,” she says, giving me a grateful look. She strokes a hand absently over her belly as she drinks deeply.