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I almost laugh at the irony. Of course my bio-mother has COPD. They were smokers when I lived with them, and apparently my bio-father still smokes. Faith probably does, too.

He waits for my response, so I find it in me to reply, “That’s too bad about her.”

“Yeah, it’s a real shame. So, you’re working at that fancy resort, aren’t you? Bet they pay real good.”

“It’s okay.”

I look up again, and Rhett’s going over something with a maintenance man. Good. His attention is directed elsewhere.

“Listen, I won’t keep you. I know you’re at work.”

Here it comes, the thing he really wants. Not to catch up, but something else.

“I’m calling because with your momma in and out of treatment, we’ve been strapped financially. I was wondering if you’d be able to help us out.”

A hole opens in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why. This isn’t a surprise. They always want something.

And what’s worse is the helping part of me, the part that wants to overcompensate, is tempted to say yes. But I’m done being wanted for my wallet and not for my company. “Well, um, I don’t think that’s possible right now.”

He sucks on his cigarette and then blows out the breath. “After all we did for you, I figured you’d lend some goodwill toward us.”

All you did for me?

My throat shrivels closed. Where’s my inhaler? I pat my pockets—empty. I scramble to open my purse and dig around until I locate it at the bottom.

I need to end this call before I’m wheezing in public. “Thank you for calling.”

“This won’t be the last you hear from us, Kitty Kat.”

“Goodbye,” I say quickly, the receiver slipping from my grasp. I’m able to grab it before it drops onto the counter, and place it gently back into the cradle.

With my inhaler in hand, I shake it, ready to take a puff, just as Rhett steps back into view.

He frowns.

At me.

Why is it every time I’m around him, I’m a complete mess, falling apart?

To be fair, I am—at least right now.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

I don’t want to puff a couple of rescue breaths in the lobby, so I grab my stuff and deal with my burning lungs until I’m tucked safely in a bathroom.

Once inside, I lock myself in a stall and quickly inhale the two breaths, holding it and exhaling slowly until my lungs expand again.

With shaking hands, I drop the inhaler into my purse.

What the hell was that all about?

The answer is easy. The past never really leaves—it just changes its number.

“I’ve brought everyone a surprise,” I announce when I reach the spa.

Maya, dressed in our all-white uniform, looks up from the front desk, where she sits beside Paige.

“Is it food?”