“Jackie!” his sister called, her voice light and airy as she came toward him. The fabric of her designer suit moved in fluid motions as she held out her arms to him. “My favorite twin. How are you?”
“I’m your only twin,” Jack said drily. He tapped Jill’s back with his fingertips, his version of a hug, and pulled away before she could squeeze any harder. “How are you?”
Another assistant darted through the door Brenda had just used. “Pierre? The president’s on the phone.”
Pierre frowned. “The president? As in…the president?”
“Aw, come on, Kate,” said a woman named Mandy. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, right? You’re not on the wagon, are you?”
“Um, actually, I am,” Kate said.
It came back to her then. Her fight with Eric. Charging out of the house, barely taking time to grab her keys and a coat too thin for the extreme winter weather. If she frowned in thought—but she couldn’t really frown, so she imagined herself doing it—she could still hear Eric yelling. Telling her she was bat-crap crazy to leave the house during the heavy snow.
Bat-crap crazy. That’s the nicest thing he’s said to me in months.