“Liv?” For years, Charlotte had prided herself on knowing the right thing to say in every situation. She was the sensitive one. Julia was the blunt, take-no-prisoners type. And Liv . . .
Liv hadn’t been herself since they’d buried her daddy.
Charlotte hovered in the doorway to the late Mr. Taft’s home office, her eyes fixed on the silhouette in the window.
“You can’t stay cooped up in here all day, Livvy,” she said delicately.
“I can do anything I want to.” Liv’s tone was calm, with just the slightest lilt. “That’s what he used to say. ‘Sky’s the limit, Bug.’” There was a pause. “He called me Bug.”
“I know.” Despite her best efforts, Charlotte could not find any words of honeyed comfort beyond that.
Liv probably didn’t want to be comforted.
“Come on.” Liv pushed off the window frame and stalked past her second-oldest friend.
Second-best, a voice inside Charlotte always whispered.
“Call Julia and tell her to meet us at the cemetery,” Liv ordered. She’d always been the charismatic one, enough so that people—male and female, young and old—did what she suggested.
Under any other circumstances, Liv being Liv might have gotten under Charlotte’s skin, but not today. Not when Liv Taft was finally starting to sound like herself.
“Don’t just stand there, Char. Get a move on. We can raid the liquor cabinet on the way.”