I laugh. My nieces, Sophie and Josie, are little hellions who think they can get away with anything because of their cherubic smiles. They’re only right ninety-five percent of the time. “If you put my girls in leashes, I’m bringing them to live here with Aunt Lizzy.”

Hanna snorts. “Deal.” Her long brown hair falls in messy, loose waves around her shoulders and her cheeks are flushed, as if I just woke her from a nap with my video-chat call.

“Are they letting you sleep?” I ask. “You look a little tired.”

She blushes. “The girls aren’t the problem,” she says, giving a pointed look to someone off-camera. “He’s hardly let me sleep since he’s been home from the last leg of his tour.”

“I can hear you,” says Nate, Hanna’s husband, from the background.

“Haven’t you two had enough of each other yet?”

Hanna ducks her head, and again I hear my brother-in-law. “Never.”

“You hanging in there?” she asks. “We miss you.”

“I’m fine. I’m learning so much with the campaign.” It’s a white lie, but maybe one of those things that will feel true a year from now when I look back on these months. “I’ve never lived anywhere but New Hope. This is good for me. I don’t have someone to come to my rescue every time something is hard.”

“There’s nothing wrong with always having someone who will rescue you,” Hanna says. “We’re here, okay? Just don’t forget that. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know.” But the truth is, they have their own lives. They have their own problems and their own families. Cally and Hanna have new babies. Krystal is running the management side of the bakery for Hanna. And even though Maggie doesn’t have any children of her own yet, Asher’s daughter, Zoe, is hers in all the ways that count, and since they started sending Zoe to school in New Hope, she now spends more time with Maggie and Asher than with her mom in New York. While Nix is still single, and is probably the most like me in terms of loneliness, she’s a doctor and her thriving practice keeps her busy.

I’m not upset with my sisters and best friend for settling down and having kids. I’m disappointed I’m not doing it with them.

It’s better that I’m here.

“Has Princess been adopted?” I ask. I miss my visits to the New Hope Humane Shelter and the dogs there, but I especially miss Princess.

“Not yet. I went by the shelter yesterday to visit her. She’s doing well.”

I wish I could adopt her, but since I don’t know where I’ll be living or what I’ll be doing when I’m no longer working on Guy’s campaign, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

“So, how’s work?” Hanna asks.

I shrug. “Oh, you know. Another day, another sorority girl calling me a bitch because I won’t lie about her volunteer hours for her Poli-Sci class.”

“You could come home.” She smiles to soften the suggestion. She knows she says it too often, but that doesn’t stop her.

“I miss you too, and don’t worry. I promised Mom I’d be there for church this weekend.”

“You should come home tonight and go out with me and the girls! We’ll go to Brady’s, like old times.” I struggle to keep my face neutral, but Hanna backpedals anyway. “Or we could stay in. Drink, play cards, or something. It would be fun. Of course, if we don’t want to drink in front of little ones, we’d need to go to Nix’s new house or Krystal’s apartment, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“Angel!” Nate calls from the background. Hanna turns her head, and I’m saved from having to respond to the invitation. Guy’s presidential campaign headquarters is in Indianapolis, so the drive back to New Hope isn’t terrible, but the risk of seeing Sam is.

When Hanna turns back to the screen, her face has gone pale. “Liz, maybe you should turn on the news. WCBF.”

“Okay . . .” I grab the remote off the end table, click on the TV, and dial into the national network.

“I’m so sorry,” Hanna says.

I blink at the screen, but the scrolling headline doesn’t make any sense to me.

“Honey, are you okay?” Hanna asks.

I shake my head and turn up the volume on my television.

“Due to their sexually graphic nature, WCBF has chosen to black out large portions of the images, but we strongly encourage our viewers to have their children leave the room. If you’re sensitive to such materials, please be advised.”

The screen fills with an image of the nude woman on her knees, hands bound behind her back, hair in the fist of a faceless man. Her face isn’t visible, but her long red hair and porcelain-pale skin instantly make me think of Sabrina Guy, my boss’s daughter.

Like the first, the next image doesn’t show either face. The woman is tied to a bed, arms about her head, a muscled male form hovering over her.

“Since when did the six o’clock news start featuring pornography?” Hanna grumbles.

I already know what I’m looking at—who I’m looking at—but if I wanted to deny the truth to myself, the final image takes away any choice. It shows the same woman and the same muscled male body, but in this one, the face of the man is clear.

I draw in an involuntary gasp. I want to look away, but I can’t take my eyes off Samuel Bradshaw’s face. Then that incomprehensible headline rolls past again: Sabrina Guy “tied up” in sex-tape scandal with on-again, off-again boyfriend Samuel Bradshaw.