Page 131 of A Million To Fall

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Davis purrs. “It’s more than worth it.”

“Rachel certainly seemed to think so,” Mrs. Longfellow muses. “And it’s… discreet, right?”

“One hundred percent. If it makes you feel better, Rachel and Alicia will be there as well. Maybe even Jess. And there’s no pressure. Watching is perfectly acceptable. You could just… see how things feel.”

Mrs. Longfellow makes a face like she’s deciding whether to splurge on a new car. “Okay, count me in.”

“You got it. Bring cash, babe.” Mrs. Davis stands, steam curling around her. “I’m going to hop in the cold plunge and then go in for my facial. Skye, always lovely to see you. Stella, I’ll see you tomorrow. Swing by any time after eight, but we don’t start playing until around eleven.”

She waves once, then disappears through the fog.

I have no idea what those two were just talking about.

I arrive home to find my parents already curled up on the couch, curtains drawn and lights dimmed like we’re in a literal movie theater. A stack of takeout containers sits on the coffee table, the smell of curry and basil filling the room.

“Perfect timing,” my dad says the moment I walk into the living room. “Your mom was ready to declare famine.”

“I was not,” she protests with a laugh. “I was perfectly patient.”

“Dad brought Thai?”

“Naturally,” he says. “It’s movie night.”

“Not sure what that has to do with Thai,” I mutter, opening a container with spring rolls, then another with sticky mango rice—clearly dessert. “Last time we had movie night we had German food.”

My dad huffs. “Because we were watching Schindler’s List. You have to eat German food when you’re watching a movie about German history,” he says, pulling what looks to be soup toward him.

“Right. And what are we watching tonight?” I ask, clearly expecting something that matches the Thai theme.

“Wizard of Oz,” my mom says and grins.

I lower myself onto the sofa, laughing, while my mom slides a plate toward me, then the container with the spring rolls.

The laugh dies in my throat because suddenly I’m thinking about Boston. And the fact that he’s gone as much as three days without eating.

About the way his face fell when he realized he’d missed Cassie and Bronx—his siblings who are in foster care because their mom’s in jail and their brother can’t get an apartment.

And about how some people spend their entire lives trying to open doors that other people just get to walk through without even knocking.

Including me.

Especially me.

I’ve never had to knock. I just get to go. And I never questioned it, until I realized Boston’s still standing there.

Knocking.

“Mom?”

She glances over immediately, sensing the shift in my voice. “What is it?”

“It’s about Boston.”

That gets both their attention. My dad sets the remote down, the TV still blank. Quiet.

“He’s…” I exhale slowly, knowing what I’m about to say will shock them—and break Boston’s confidence.

But I see no way around it.