on for him?”
“No problem. I’ll do it. Come on, Spencer. You can bring your water into the living room, and I’ll try to find some kind of snack for you to have with it.”
“Do you have any plastic cups?” Spencer asked, eyeing the brimming goblet in her hand. “That looks too big. I might spill it.”
“No plastic,” Jordan said ruefully. “Not even paper cups. Don’t worry. If it spills, it spills.”
“It might break,” Spencer told her worriedly.
“If it breaks, it breaks. I have lots of them. Come on. I’ll set you up in front of the TV. I’ll be right back, Phoebe.”
It took her a few minutes to locate the Disney Channel. When she returned to the kitchen, Phoebe was still sitting at the counter, her water glass untouched, her elbow propped on the countertop, chin in one hand, fingers splayed broodingly across her face.
“Tell me what’s going on, Phoebe,” Jordan said quietly, sliding onto the stool Spencer had vacated. “Why are you here? Why isn’t Reno? Did something happen?”
Phoebe nodded, running her hand distractedly through her hair as she met Jordan’s gaze. Her expression was stark, haunted. “Reno’s back at home, in Philadelphia.”
Jordan knew then that her hunch was right. Phoebe had left him. Why? Was he abusive?
Jordan found it frighteningly easy to imagine her friend’s moody husband lashing out at Phoebe, or even at his son. She had noticed, on the few occasions she had seen them together, that Reno frequently seemed to have a protective arm around his wife. Yet Jordanhad witnessed little if any genuine affection in their marriage, let alone between father and son. It was Phoebe who held Spencer as an infant, who changed his diapers and fed him bottles and played with him. Reno seemed detached.
“It’s going to be all right, Phoebe.” Jordan laid a comforting hand on Phoebe’s arm and noticed that it was terribly thin. She could feel the jutting bones beneath her fingers. “You must be a nervous wreck. I know how hard it is to go through something like this, but—”
“No, Jordan, it’s not what you think,” Phoebe said, casting a fretful glance toward the living room, where the television blared reassuringly.
“You and Reno aren’t splitting up?”
“No.”
Disappointment coursed through Jordan. On its heels came fresh concern. Something was obviously terribly wrong. If it wasn’t Phoebe’s marriage, and if Spencer was safely here and Reno back in Philadelphia, then what was it? Both Phoebe’s parents were dead; the only family she had left was her older brother.
“Did something happen to Curt?” Jordan asked, doubting it even as she spoke.
Phoebe had never been close to her only sibling, the product of their father’s brief first marriage and nearly a generation older than Phoebe. Even if Curt had met some tragedy, Jordan tried and failed to imagine that it would be shattering enough to send Phoebe to her doorstep out of the blue, looking like a nervous wreck.
“No, it’s not Curt; it’s …” Again Phoebe trailed off, looking anxious.
Oh, no. Jordan took in Phoebe’s gaunt appearance,her skin-and-bones figure, her distressed expression. Was it Phoebe? Was she seriously ill?
“Phoebe, you have to tell me,” she pressed, her stomach flip-flopping in apprehension. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m scared, too, Jordan.” Phoebe’s voice barely hovered above a whisper. “I’m so sorry to drag you into this, but you were the only person I could trust….”
“Of course you can trust me,” Jordan said automatically. Her mind flashed back to sunny summer days, to childhood promises.
How many times had she said those words? They had grown up next door to each other, had played together as soon as they were old enough to toddle back and forth across the yard between their houses. They had shared everything from girlhood confidences to eye makeup to double dates.
Though college had separated them long before Reno came along