19
“There you are!” Sarah says as I step into their kitchen. “Daniel told us where you were—was it dreadful?”
“Sarah,” her mother scolds her.
“Dreadful,” I agree.
Francie gives me a somewhat maternal look over the top of her glasses, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I hope your father doesn’t expect to be invited to our party,” Sarah says.
“Remind me,” Francie says. “Did I raise my children with no manners whatsoever?”
Sarah waves her away. “We’re all friends here, Mum. Halli Markham doesn’t mind us speaking freely about her abominable parents, do you?”
“Not one bit,” I say.
“Good.” Sarah passes me a plate of cookies she’s just been sampling. “Speaking of the party, you be the judge. Do you prefer the cinnamon or the chocolate?”
I eat two cookies with barely a pause in between. The
