Thirty-oneLeilani had never seen Misty anything but self-assured and unflappable. She’d grown up hearing stories of a young Misty maintaining her black-swan serenity while drunken swains threatened to duel for her favors.
The same Misty stood before her in her husband’s office sobbing her heart out in great, lung-sucking squalls. Mingled tears and saliva flowed like a burst dam she had no will or ability to control.
It was a quiet Friday afternoon in the May household. Cyrus and Kaleo were out and Misty and Leilani had been enjoying a lazy time together, their first real chance to chill out since Bully’s funeral. They’d donned the comfortable flowing Hawaiian home dress, the muumuu, for a cozy stay-at-home day.
Misty was writing letters, and Leilani offered to make them both mamaki tea—
