Ex and the Single Girl by Lani Diane Rich Page B

m going to the apartment over the Page.” Bev settled both palms flat on the table, fingers spread wide, her eyes on Mags. Mags looked like she was about to cry. Vera kept staring at th e invisible spot over Bev ’ s shoulder. “ That ’ s probably a good idea,” Bev said.
    I froze. A good idea? I looked around the table. Not a one was looking at me. Not a one arguing. I couldn ’ t get a glass of orange juice without inciting an argument from the Mizz es. Now I was moving out and they weren ’ t going to fight me? “ What ’ s going on?” I said. “ What are you not telling me?” Silence. I felt a brief inclination to back down, to give in to a gnawing fear of this secretive, combat-free zone we ’ d just stepped int o.
    But a girl can ’ t always rise above her raisin ’.
    “ I ’ ll go get my things,” I said quietly, and left the kitchen to go pack up my duffel bag for the second time that summer.
    The door creaked as I opened it. The living area was large and open, with one door leading to the bedroom and another to the bathroom. The hardwood floors were dusty, as was every surface: the windows, the counter that separated the kitchen nook from the wider living area, the naked queen-size bed that took up most of the bedroom. I wal k ed over to the kitchen nook and opened the valves under the sink, then turned on the faucet. The water, after a groan of complaint and a few sputters, was good. Clean.
    “ Okay,” I said to the hollow room. “ Okay, then.”
    I dumped my duffel bag on the floor and unzipped it enough to grab some bedding I ’ d taken from the house. Ian ’ s book was just underneath; he told me he ’ d signed it while I was in the shower, but I hadn ’ t taken the time to read what he wrote. I flipped open the front cover and looked inside.
     
    Gl ad to see you can walk in a northerly direction after all.
    Hope you ’ ll do it again.
    Ian
     
    I smiled and shut the book, placing it on the counter of the kitchenette as I stumbled into the bedroom. Tomorrow I ’ d make a run to the Wal-Mart in Fort Oglethorpe and get the rest of the stuff I ’ d need for the apartment. Tonight, there was nothing I wanted more than t o fall into a deep, blank sleep.
     
    ***
     
    I opened my eyes, focusing on the blurred movement I could see through the crack in the bedroom door. I floated my hands over the top of my duffel bag and grabbed my glasses, then pulled myself up out of bed and stumbled out into the living area. “ Vera, what are you doing here? What time is it?”
    “ It ’ s seven-thirty,” she said. The kitchen counter was covered in plastic grocery bags. Vera unloaded various food supplies into the cabinets and refrigerator, taking a moment to check the eggs cooking on the stove.
    “ You didn ’ t have to do this,” I said, sitting down on the bar stool by the counter, inhaling the spicy scent of th e brew in my new Mr. Coffee. Vera plunked a mug down in front of me.
    “ I didn ’ t do it for you,” she said. “ You need to help me in the Page today.”
    “ Where is Mags, Vera? What is she doing?”
    Vera stuffed the last of the plastic bags under the sink and shook the griddle with the eggs on it, but didn ’ t say anything.
    “ I don ’ t get you, Vera. You slipped the Jack thing to Beauji. You knew she would tell me, which means you know it ’ s the right thing to do. So spill.”
    Her eyes were sad and torn, but I knew it didn ’ t matter. Vera was not a woman who changed her mind once it was made up.
    “ What?” I said, pouring coffee into the mug. “ Did the cards tell you not to tell me?”
    She looked away. “ You can make fun of me all you like, Portia, but those cards have neve r steered me wrong.”
    I huffed. “ I think Bridge Wilkins might have something to say about that.”
    Vera ’ s back straightened, and she gave the eggs one violent shake before sliding them off the griddle and onto a plate. She put the plate in front of me, slid t he salt and