Chapter 24

“You know how to lead. Don’t you? Dance with me.”

Monroe looked up, startled. Her new sister-in-law Sarah Parrish Masterson-Stone had somehow snuck up on her. How in the hell did she sneak in a big, white dress? “Sure. I can lead. You run out of boys to dance with already?”

Sarah pulled her to the floor. “Of course not. I just want to dance with my favorite new sister.”

Monroe smiled. “Of all things in the world, the one you did not need more of was sisters.”

Every time Monroe saw Sarah today, the new bride was smiling. There was a lot of joy in that smile, but there was a hint of wicked amusement in it too - like she’d gotten away with something huge she wasn’t supposed to. That part of the smile ascended and her eyes sparkled. “It’s not all about quantity, new favorite sister mine. Quality is important.”

That got a laugh. “Don’t let the other six hear you call me that. I hear the Parrish girls can be mean when crossed.”

Sarah laughed out loud and gave an extemporaneous wriggle of her hips. “I’m not a Parrish girl no more. I’m a Stone woman now. What have you heard about us?”

“I’m not sure we should believe everything we hear about Stone women, but I won’t know for sure for a couple more weeks.” Monroe guided Sarah easily around the dance floor. Most of the Stones in Green Mountainside knew how to lead on the dance floor. Among the lodge’s guests, far more women wanted to learn a bit of ballroom than men.

“And you’re headed to New York, I hear,” said Sarah. “That must be exciting.”

“Exciting and scary and maybe a little sad,” said Monroe. “Having you here these last few months has reminded me the rest of the world isn’t exactly like Green Mountainside. I’m going to miss this place.”

“It is beautiful.” Sarah laughed. “I was a little afraid I’d be bored so far from anything resembling a city, but you folk sure do keep it interesting.”

“Compared to Mather Parish Louisiana, sure. Compared to New York...” Monroe let that trail off. “I try to think about it all at once and feel like I might explode. Broadway and all those clubs and culture and history. I don’t know how anybody in New York closes their eyes without missing something.”

“Somebody else is going to New York.” Sarah’s mischief-smile beamed bright.

“Who?” Monroe asked.

“You met my brother-in-law Hank. Didn’t you?” Sarah asked.

“Hank’s going to New York?” Monroe frowned. She’d met the beefy, dour oilman but taken an instant dislike to him because everything in his demeanor suggested he’d taken an instant dislike to her.

“Good God in his Heaven no. Hank would sooner hitch a ride to Hell on a bus full of male nurses than step foot in New York.” Sarah laughed. “Do you know he tried to lecture me on all the things I shouldn’t do once I got here?”

“Your brother in law did?” Monroe frowned. “I imagine daddy might try to warn me about New York, but...”

“Oh, my daddy did plenty of his own worrying about what kind of folk I was falling in with, but Hank has some very specific issues with the Stones.” Sarah moved in closer to whisper. “Do you know at Stone family weddings, sometimes girls dance with girls?”

“You don’t say?” Monroe gave her sister-in-law a twirl.

“Yup. Hank is very concerned about girls dancing with girls. He mentioned it at least six times,” said Sarah. “And if he is not glaring daggers at us with secret lust in his heart right now, we’re not doing our job.”

“So now that you’re a respectably married Stone woman, you can’t resist poking the bear a little?” Monroe smirked.

“That’s part of it certainly. Do you think we could dance a little closer to that group over there?” Sarah tilted her head towards the most crowded part of the dance floor. “I’m thinking Hank’s not going to be able to leave here without making some kind of scene and now would be a good time.”

“At the start of the reception?” Monroe frowned, but directed them closer to the mass of people. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Annie says she needs twenty minutes to pack up her kids and get out of here.” Sarah’s smile didn’t fade, but she made eye contact to show she was serious.

“S-sure.” Monroe missed a step, but recovered. She’d taken an immediate liking to Sarah and the two of them had been thick as thieves since pretty much the first day. Sara had actually come to Green Mountainside a full two weeks before Guy could wrap up business in Shreveport and join her and Monroe had become her self-appointed guide to Montana. In that time, she’d heard some depressingly Medieval things about Mather Parish and the Haderite church and been glad that a beautiful vibrant young woman like Sarah had been able to get out, but she hadn’t realized her new sister-in-law’s resolve might extend to helping her sister, niece, and nephew get out as well.

“Good - because Annie, Tucker, and Becky are going to New York,” said Sarah with a self-satisfied smirk. “Apparently, your cousin Nick needs an advance viability analyst ... whatever that is. I thought you maybe sweet talked him into that, but you look a little surprised.”

“More like gobsmacked,” said Monroe. “I guess I shouldn’t be, though. My mama must have had something to do with it.”

“I just told Annie she should bring her resume and try to get a job so she could stay here,” said Sarah. “This is so much better.”

The song they were dancing to approached its end. Monroe looked up at Sarah. “That was only about five minutes. One more?”

Sarah nodded. “Yeah. Annie might be clear by now, but let’s give her a few more minutes. Before I danced with you, Hank spent about ten minutes watching your brother try to seduce me.”

“Does he really think that boat hasn’t flown yet?” Monroe smirked. “You’ve been living with Guy for almost three months.”

“I don’t know what Hank thinks about my love live with my husband.” Sarah’s eyes danced with amusement. “That wasn’t the brother I was dancing with.”

In spite of herself, Monroe laughed. “I should have known. Leave it to Dietrich to make a pass at his brother’s bride on the wedding day.”

“He didn’t do anything so vulgar. He was a perfect gentleman,” said Sarah. “Just that peculiar sort of gentleman you seem to raise in abundance up here that can be thoroughly polite and respectful and still let you know without words that he’d rather not be. He’s going to be a real heartbreaker.”

“He’s already a heartbreaker,” complained Monroe. “What he’s going to be is shot and killed if he tries that with the wrong girl in New York.”

“Well, it’s probably just as well they take away everybody’s guns in New York then.” said Sarah. As they spun, she added, “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Monroe asked.

“Hank’s not where he’s supposed to be,” said Sarah. “I think he’s figured out something’s up.”

Nick was sitting at a picnic table catching up with his grandparents when Inez dropped in next to him. “Our cousin Pilar politely requests that you rescue her from her overzealous suitors long enough that she can get something to eat.”

He laughed and rose. “I’d better go see what that’s about and maybe grab myself something while I’m up. Can I get you two anything? Inez?”

“We’re just fine, Nick. You go ahead,” said Rachel.

Nick found Pilar in the arms of a man he thought of immediately as Cowboy Lev. The man was a good five or six inches taller than his own six-two even without the gray Stetson, broad-shouldered and built like a superhero. He was not the sort of man Nick would normally consider breaking in on, but he was saved the trouble. When he saw Nick standing on the periphery, he danced over and released his partner. “Miss Pilar, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Rooster.” She smiled up at him. “Allow me to introduce our cousin Nick Coyle from New York. Nick, this is Rooster Bullworth-Stone from Houston.”

“A pleasure.” Rooster held out his hand to shake. Nick was relieved to find his handshake firm, but not so firm as to pulp every bone in his hand. “My wife’s been at me to bring her to New York to see Hamilton forever.”

“We were talking about going to see it soon too,” said Nick. “Maybe we should coordinate.”

“I’d like that and Luann would love it,” said Rooster. “Can I get your card?”

Nick winced. “One of the many things I didn’t know about the Stone family before this weekend is that everybody carries calling cards. Give me yours and I’ll text you back?”

Rooster handed both him and Pilar cards. As they walked away, Nick started typing on his phone. Pilar asked, “Are you texting everyone who gives you a card?”

“Yeah. Why?” asked Nick.

“Just ... a lot of us use intermediaries,” Pilar pointed out. “People probably assume you do too. If somebody asks for a number to contact you, they probably won’t think twice about giving that one out.”

Nick frowned. “So ... four thousand Stones could wind up with my direct phone number?”

“Well, four thousand Stones and all their friends who might want to do business with their billionaire cousin,” said Pilar. “How many people have you texted since coming here?”

Nick brought out his phone and looked at it. “A lot.”

“You might want to be a little more selective and let people know that they have your personal number,” said Pilar. “Although, that might cause a different problem. Which number you give people can sometimes be interpreted as an indicator of how much ... intercourse you want to have with them.”

“Intercourse?” Nick raised an eyebrow.

“I’m using that as a dysphemism, but also literally,” said Pilar. “If any of the people you texted were young women, you may be leading them on.”

“Uh, most of them are actually. I may have accidentally propositioned half the state of Montana.” Nick scrolled up and down with his thumb. “Wait. My grandparents are in here. They probably know I wasn’t...”

Pilar couldn’t help but laugh at the look of consternation on Nick’s face. He looked back at her dance partner. “I’d be more worried about Rooster. He’s a big man.”

Pilar looked back the way they’d come. “He seemed like a sweetheart. I’m sure he’d be very gentle with you.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “You know, I think I might have to change my number anyway. I’ve had this one for as long as I’ve had a cell phone and it’s in pretty thorough circulation. I’ve been whitelisting, but my voicemail is still filling up faster than I can handle it.” He smirked. “And while I hate to be an area code snob, I’m not sure that 845 matches my current lifestyle.”

Pilar laughed. “I’m still rocking 973 myself. We are definitely marking ourselves as bridge and tunnel Stones.”

Nick’s eyes lit up as they got on the grub line. “I bet I could buy one of the old 212 numbers if I wanted.”

“It sounds like you’re really getting in touch with the true power of wealth,” Pilar teased.

Nick leaned in and kissed her. Pilar wrapped herself around him and kissed back with an intensity that surprised him. “I was hoping you’d do that.”

Nick smirked. “You should have told me. I’ve been wanting to do it.”

“Are you sure? It might get you fewer phone numbers,” Pilar smiled at him. “You’ve still got the other half the state to lead on.”

Nick shook his head. “Pass. Honestly, all the interest is flattering but it’s overwhelming. I’ve probably already been propositioned by more gorgeous women than I could sleep with in the course of my life.”

“That many?” Pilar raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t some basketball guy sleep with ten thousand women over his career?”

“Wilt Chamberlain and that’s reindeer shit,” said Nick.

“Reindeer shit?” Pilar looked amused.

“Picture this. We’re all five years old, first few days of Kindergarten.” Nick looked around to make sure there were no small children nearby. “I’m waiting at the bus stop with Max and Arwen. Dennis and Simon come running up the street and Simon looks super-happy. He gets there and before he can even catch his breath, he says, ‘Santa isn’t real.’ It turns out he asked his mother how fast Santa’s reindeer fly and she said some specific number like three hundred miles an hour. Five year-old Simon does the math and figures out there’s no way that’s fast enough for him to do what they claim he does, ipso facto, Santa is a lie.”

Pilar covered her mouth to hide her laugh. “Did he really say ‘ipso facto?’”

“I might be paraphrasing,” admitted Nick. “But it was sort of an early indicator that Simon was going to be Simon. We like to say it was because of stuff that happened when we were eight, but even in Kindergarten Simon was happy there was no Santa because it meant there were holes in the grown up surveillance network and he could get away with things completely unseen.”

“I assume that’s more paraphrasing,” said Pilar. “Your friend Simon is kind of different. Isn’t he?”

“Simon and Dennis both have genius-level IQs,” said Nick. “Simon’s manifested in math. Dennis’s is a bit harder to pin down. But they’re both really smart. Did you ever read Oryx and Crake?”

“Is that Latin?” Pilar asked.

“No. It’s...” Nick waved his hand. “There’s a small, but very real chance Simon might one day apply his genius to destroying human civilization. We’re friends, but sometimes it feels like a public service that I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“So ... Wilt Chamberlain and reindeer shit?” Pilar reminded him.

“Oh, right. Anyway, Simon sort of fixates on the mathematical absurdity of Santa Claus for a while and keeps coming back to us with these little factoids - how fast he would actually have to fly, how many children there are in the world that he would have to visit. Then, when he breaks his ankle and he’s all laid up, me and him and Max are hanging out playing video games we’ve played like a million times and he says, ‘You know, the energy it would take for Santa to deliver all those presents is so great that, even if the reindeer were super-efficient, the whole planet would be eight feet deep in reindeer shit.’”

Pilar wasn’t hiding her laughter now. She leaned against Nick and laughed until there were tears in her eyes. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “Nick, you’re killing me. What does this have to do with Wilt Chamberlain?”

“I’m getting to that.” Nick grabbed a thick, plastic plate and accepted a large piece of barbecue chicken from a server. He suspected people in Montana didn’t need to be cowboys anymore. They just did it to keep from getting fat. “Ever since that fateful day, ‘reindeer shit’ has been shorthand for when the math doesn’t add up on a claim. In order to have sex with ten thousand women, that’s like a new woman every day for thirty years or maybe three new women every day for ten years - no vacations, no sick days, no performance issues. That’s supposed to be on top of being one of the greatest NBA players in history - practices, games, bus rides from city to city, checking into hotels, food, sleep, whatever he has to do in order to have the career he had. The number is theoretically possible, but it’s not practical. So, reindeer shit.”

“So, how many women do you think he really slept with?” Pilar asked.

“Too many,” said Nick. “I wouldn’t guess at a real number. It’s probably hundreds or thousands, but not ten thousand. That number just means that he’s either terrible at math or he’s desperate to validate a very lonely life.”

Pilar gave Nick such an odd look that he immediately retraced his last few words. She said, “I’m not sure that’s the first word may people would use to describe that kind of life.”

Nick spooned some vegetables onto his place. “That’s because most people are terrible at big numbers. Let’s assume Inez’s spreadsheet is right and I’m going to be single for another twenty-five or so years. Even if I were to repeat the last month over and over again, that’s ... God, that’s a lot of women. Thirty six times twenty-five is ... nine hundred. Maybe if I really worked at it today, I could name nine hundred people, but I wouldn’t have met them all. Nine hundred lovers means I would have somebody that I’d slept with when there were 899 people I would have rather been with. That seems like a pretty good working definition of loneliness to me.”

Pilar stayed quiet until they were off the food line and headed back to the picnic table. “What do you think the perfect number is, then? You’ve clearly thought a lot about the math.”

“I don’t have anything approaching an answer to that question,” said Nick. “I hope I don’t hurt too many people figuring it out. I worry that being unable to answer questions like that is what killed both my parents. At some point, Colin was taking just enough drugs, but people kept offering him more and more and he kept taking them.”

Pilar’s look of concern reminded Nick that he still hadn’t entirely shaken the dark mood he’d woken up with. He smiled at her to soften the harshness of the topic and sat down at the picnic table with his grandparents and Inez. It was clear they’d stopped talking about something when they saw Nick and Pilar approach. He asked, “What did I interrupt?”

“We were just talking about what went into the decision not to tell you that you were a Stone,” Inez said blithely.

Gil winced, but Nick allowed himself to laugh at the sheer awkwardness of it. “Inez did tell you she’s a family historian. Didn’t she?” He leaned in. “I’ve heard my father Ed tell his version of it. But, I’d love to hear yours.”

Rebecca was inconsolably cranky and Tucker deeply suspicious by the time the plane from Bozeman touched down in Teterboro, a New Jersey town close to New York City. Both attitudes were Anne’s own fault. She’d been tense and jumpy when they left the wedding in Green Mountainside early then near panic when the man driving her to the airport sped up and informed her that Hank had left as well and was assumed to be coming to look for them. She’d calmed down a bit once they were in the air, focusing on calming her children, but the damage was done. Tucker didn’t believe her half-baked excuse about “Mommy, Tucker, and Becky taking a little vacation” without daddy. Nearly thirteen, Tucker complained bitterly about a lot of the same things that chafed at Anne about the Haderites and their church-run school, but he’d internalized some of those things, too. He told her in no uncertain terms that mommies didn’t take vacations without daddies because God wouldn’t like it.

Anne was terrified to tell her twelve year-old son that they were headed to New York City. “New York City” was Hank’s shorthand for all that was wrong and terrible in America. For that matter, she was a bit terrified of going to New York City herself. She didn’t believe the nonsense Reverend Hader spewed about the nation’s largest city and Hank parroted, but even if only half of it were true, it was still pretty scary.

She hadn’t planned to go to New York City. She wasn’t really sure she’d been planning to stay in Montana. After Anne had complained for the millionth or so time about Hank to her little sister, Sarah had sworn at her and told her to bring her GD resume to Montana with her. Anne had quite reasonably pointed out that she didn’t have a resume as she’d never actually had a job. An hour of argument later and she’d been bullied into pulling together a resume.

She hadn’t really expected anything to come from it. She wasn’t qualified to be anything but a wife and mother. It was what she’d been born for. She’d always known she’d get married, have and raise kids. She just hadn’t known she would be so bad at it. Her son was surly and uncommunicative. Becky hadn’t even started to speak until she was almost old enough for kindergarten.

Reverend Richards, the preacher who’d married her to Hank, thought Tucker’s attitude problems stemmed from Anne’s father’s influence. Andre Parrish had converted to the church in order to marry Anne’s mama, but he’d always been a lukewarm believer at best according to the reverend.

There had been many straws that led to Anne’s decision to leave her husband. But maybe the genuine last one had been Hank’s decision that, after the wedding, they would be moving to Texas where Tucker could receive a “proper, Christian upbringing.” Hank had been very impressed with the Texas preacher who came up to Mather Parish as a guest of Reverend Richards even if his exorcism had failed to get Rebecca talking.

Once committed, Anne had been determined to see it through. When no one in Green Mountainside seemed to have work for her, she prayed for the Lord to provide her another way to get her children away from Mather Parish. The Lord apparently had a better sense of humor than Anne would have given Him credit for and sent Nick Coyle-Stone.

Nick wasn’t like anybody Anne had ever met. But Green Mountainside had been nothing but people unlike any Anne had ever met. Hank and Sarah had locked horns good over whether Anne would even be allowed to attend the wedding. Hank disliked Sarah even more than he disliked Sarah and Anne’s father, but she’d somehow bullied him into letting his wife be matron of honor as Sarah married herself into a family of “communists, sodomites, and sexual degenerates.”

Whatever Sarah had told Hank about the Stones must not have meshed with what he saw because he started steaming pretty much the moment they drove through the gate of Green Mountainside Ski Resort. Or maybe Hank had come planning to stew whatever he saw. Whatever set him off, it was enough to keep Anne from getting cold feet even when she met Nick.

Goldie Masterson-Stone had whispered to Anne that “Cousin Nick” might have a job for her. Cousin Nick turned out to be very young, but apparently very rich. He’d looked at her resume, declared her “uncontaminated by training or experience” and offered her a job making three times what her husband made warning that it wouldn’t go as far as she thought. He’d also sworn a blue streak like it was as natural as breathing.

Still, maybe God had sent Sarah to Nick for as much of a reason as he’d sent Nick to Sarah. He might be uncouth, but he seemed like a good and kind man. From what she understood of the job, it was all about helping him give away huge amounts of his own money to good causes.

When he first offered her the job, Anne had been afraid to ask for any more, but she requested enough of an advance to get herself and her children across the country by bus. Nick had told her instead that there was a plane waiting for him at Bozeman and that it would take her to New York and come back for him. There was such hubris in the casual way he said it, but she could hardly refuse.

She’d been intimidated by the in-flight staff at first, but they’d gone out of their way to be kind to her and particularly her children. The air hostess had spent most of the flight talking to Tucker who immediately told her she was pretty. Tucker had been using that word a lot today. To his twelve year-old mind, it apparently meant “underdressed.” By that point, Anne had been too frazzled to care. She welcomed anything that kept her son distracted.

Just as she’d gotten over being intimidated by the in-flight staff, Anne had gotten a call from Nick’s personal assistant Tanvi and been intimidated afresh. The young Englishwoman was terrifyingly competent. She informed Anne that a temporary place had been found for her in Coney Island which was apparently a part of New York City, but “less urban.” Also, someone would be meeting her at the airport with a car to drive her to her temporary residence and to help her get settled in.

Five hours on a plane with two almost-behaved children was enough to get Anne worried again about what she’d gotten herself into. She was in New York or close enough that the air smelled weird. Nobody back home knew where she was. Sarah knew, but Sarah was surrounded by the Stone family and had become a Stone herself.

She didn’t think Sarah would betray her, but what could Sarah or Anne do if someone like Nick Coyle or even Sarah’s new father-in-law Brody Masterson-Stone decided to make her disappear? At thirty-one and with two pregnancies behind her, Anne thought she was probably getting too long-in-the-tooth to be trafficked, but someone might want her children.

As if to reinforce this fear, there was a squat, black car waiting on the tarmac when she emerged from the plane holding Tucker by his hand and carrying Becky. It looked like the sort of car criminals rode around in. As the staff loaded her luggage into the trunk and she crossed the empty space between plane and car, no one emerged except a chauffeur who held the door open waiting for her.

Anne wanted to peek into the car before she got in. She wasn’t sure what she thought she would do surrounded like this, but she didn’t want to blindly stick her neck in a snare like a rabbit. Tucker spoiled her hand by pulling away and jumping into the car. She heard her son exclaim, “You’re pretty.”

“You’re a rather handsome young man yourself, tiger,” said a cultured-sounding woman’s voice. “What’s your name?”

“Tucker Bispo,” said Tucker. Anne sighed. Maybe he’d tell the stranger his phone number, street address, and social security number next.

The woman waiting in the car was indeed pretty - both in the conventional sense and by Tucker’s less refined definition. She was all long, tan limbs, curves and blonde hair wearing a pair of shorts that almost matched her bronzed legs and a white t-shirt with a v-neck. She introduced herself. “Emily King. Sorry I didn’t get out and help, but...” She gestured to an ankle wrapped in a tan bandage. God. Everything about her was tan.

“Thank you for coming.” Anne looked at Emily’s left hand, which was resting on a pastel-colored child seat. “Miss King. Are you here to take us to Coney Island?”

“And generally to make sure you get settled in, sure enough,” said Emily agreeably. “Would you like to stop by the airport proper for anything to eat or drink ... trip to the loo?”

“The ... loo?” Anne asked.

“Sorry. The bathroom,” said Emily.

“I peed on the plane,” announced Tucker. “Let’s go to Coney Island.”

“Maybe we should check with the ladies first, sport,” Emily suggested. “Anne? Little one?”

“This is Rebecca. Say hello to Emily, Rebecca,” said Anne. When Rebecca predictably hid her face in her mother’s neck, Anne sighed. “Sorry. She’s a bit shy.”

“No worries.” Emily gestured to child seat. “The law says she’s supposed to ride in there until she’s seven. She rapped on the privacy partition and the car started moving. “Plenty of places to stop on the way if we need to.”

Outside the window, Teterboro didn’t look like Mather Parish, but it did look a bit like Shreveport. Emily let everyone get settled for a while as they rode. Then, she said “Tanvi’s working on getting some professional help for you to get used to living here, but in the meantime, she and Nick asked for my help. The house we’ve got for you is across the street from where I used to live. And ... I understand you’re moving away from kind of an unusual church?”

“We’re Haderites. I suppose that’s kind of unusual, but not to us. Everybody I grew up with was a Haderite,” said Anne.

“I grew up in the Outback as part of a church too small to have a name, but we followed a man named Reverend Angus Wallace. He predicted the world was going to end a couple of times when I was growing up,” said Emily.

“So, you’re not part of that church any more?” Anne asked carefully.

“Nah. I got out when I was sixteen and never looked back,” said Emily. “Once the world fails to end a couple of times, you start to suspect people are just making things up.”

“I ... will I be expected to renounce my church?” Anne wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“Not by me and I doubt Nick cares.” said Emily. “He didn’t tell us much about why you’re here. He just told us he wants to make sure you’re as well settled in as we can make you until he can come back and get you working.”

“Do you work for Nick?” Anne asked.

“I’m his social media manager,” said Emily.

“I don’t know what that is,” admitted Anne. “Does your job involve a lot of this sort of thing?”

“Picking up strange women from airports to help them settle into a new home?” Emily smirked. “No. This is a first. My actual job doesn’t entail much and Nick pays me too much for it. So, when he asked me to do something that was actually useful, I jumped at the chance.”

She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a phone. “That reminds me. Nick gave me a budget if you need to pick up anything along the way - clothes for yourself or the kids, prescriptions. There’s supposed to be a grocery delivery at the house while we’re on the way, but we can pick up anything special you need.”

Anne tried to comprehend the question and suddenly found her cheeks wet. For a moment, she thought the car must be leaking, but her daughter asked, “Mommy, what are you crying?” That made her sob.

Emily wordlessly reached into a plastic sack on the seat next to her and brought out a box of Kleenex. When Anne gestured for it, Emily handed it over.

“I’m so sorry,” Anne sniffled. “I haven’t gotten much sleep in a while.”

“It would be odd if you didn’t cry today,” said Emily. “But, you’re in good hands now. Whatever you need, I’m your fairy godmother.”