As we leave Twelve Oaks, a moving truck rumbles past us, pointed toward Adele’s home. They’re probably coming in to prep for the party. Depending on the theme, the complications, and the sheer number of people, these things can take days to set up.
“Is there a theme this year?” Holly asks, maneuvering the Bronco out of the truck’s way.
“Always. It’s...” My stomach sinks a little. I have no idea, and it’s not that I care about themes or decorations or who’s invited, but I care that Adele used to tell me that stuff. Key words: used to. We’ve drifted, and when this Arch thing goes pear shaped, we’ll be done and I will have lost everything.
“The theme is something,” I say at last. “I forget what she picked. Four more days until your freedom,” I add. It’s more for me than for her. I need ano
