"Sharona." Winn’s nod was curt, formal.

Her eyes flicked briefly to Joey, and Winn caught it—the subtle shift in her posture, the way her head tilted just so, her gaze softening by a fraction.

"Joey." Winn could practically hear the emotional key change. She stepped closer. "I had to come. I... I am so sorry, Joey. I never knew her, but I cannot even begin to imagine how hard this must be for you."

Joey’s shoulders tensed. He looked up briefly, eyes glassy and lost. "Thank you," he said.

"Come on. We have to go." Winn guided Joey forward, his hand firm against his friend’s back. He’d already had enough of condolences and crocodile tears.

"Winn, can I talk to you?"

Winn’s answer came sharp and fast—"No."

"It’s about Sylvia."

Winn finally turned, his face unreadable. Behind him, Joey shifted awkwardly. The man looked drained, his grief weighing him down. He gave Winn a light pat on the back, an unspoken acknowledgment that the conversation wasn’t his to witness. "I’ll wait in the car," Joey murmured. Winn nodded without looking away from Sharona.

The moment Joey was gone, Winn’s composure thinned. "What is it?" he asked.

"I... she isn’t returning my calls," Sharona began. "I just want to know if she’s okay. And if I can see her. I mean, she’s my friend."

"I’m guessing after that stunt you pulled at my engagement party, she found better company."

"I’m sorry about that," she said quietly. "I felt scorned, I reacted. I wasn’t thinking. But I care about Syl. I worry about her, Winn. You know how fragile she can be. I don’t want to lose our friendship over something stupid I did."

Winn studied her face, searching for sincerity beneath the polished exterior. He sighed. "She’s at home," he said finally.

"Why didn’t she come to the funeral?" she asked.

"I guess it’s hard for her," Winn said simply.

"Yeah," Sharona murmured, lowering her eyes. "I understand. This really is... quite sad." She sounded wistful.

"I have to go, Sharona." He turned toward the car, the wind tugging at the lapels of his black coat.

"Can I drive behind you to see her?" she called out. "I just need a few minutes to talk to her."

Winn stopped mid-step, jaw tightening. He could feel her eyes burning into his back, could hear the faint edge of pleading under her silky tone.

"Sure." Winn nodded once and headed toward the car when he heard his name again. "Fuck!" he muttered under his breath, more reflex than profanity, and turned. Trish stood there. "Hey, Trish! Didn’t know you came." His relief at seeing a familiar face made his tone go softer for a beat.

"I blend into the background easily," she said, ducking a half-smile. She cast a subtle, measuring glance at Sharona who was heading to her own car. Winn followed it, and the instant his gaze landed on Sharona’s departing silhouette, he found himself explaining before he’d decided to. It was automatic.

"She just wants to see Sylvia, is all. She’s worried about her."

Trish raised an eyebrow. "Uhn-uhn... I didn’t ask." Winn’s face flushed faintly, the color rising in a way that made him feel suddenly young and absurd.

"I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m explaining," he admitted, helplessly candid.

Trish shifted her weight, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. "I would like to see Sylvia too," she said, earnest now. "I’m worried. If I have to whoop her ass for refusing to pick up my calls, then that is what I’ll do."

He let himself smile, a small, tired thing. "Did you drive here?" he asked, keeping his voice light to match hers.

"No," she lied smoothly. Her eyes flicked away, not meeting his. "My car’s acting up." It was easier to dodge Winn’s rigid tail when she hopped from taxi to bus and then to another taxi, a hopping, half-heroic commute that masked her attempts to keep surveillance off her trail.

Winn held the car door open. "Sit in the back," he said then slid behind the wheel. Joey sat stiff as a statue in the passenger seat, eyes hollow, staring at the small rectangular of earth where Diane now lay. Winn pulled his shoulders square, drove them out of the church grounds, and the city swallowed them up again.

*****

Sylvia sat on the terrace.

When Winn’s car pulled up and Joey stepped out, guilt unfurled through her. She hadn’t called Joey. She hadn’t said the things people expected: "I’m so sorry," or "If you need anything." How could she? How could she sit in easy conversation while the truth — the one that clicked into place — sat heavy beneath her ribs?

She had known who’d orchestrated Diane’s end. The knowledge was a burr in her conscience.

As if summoned by destiny or bad timing, the car door opened again and Trish stepped out. There was a momentum to her walk. Even from the terrace, Sylvia felt the heat of it.

"Uh-oh," Sylvia murmured to herself, because that word fit so perfectly and she rose.

Trish advanced across the short stretch of lawn. There was no hesitation in her steps — only purpose. When she reached the stone path, she stopped just inside the boundary. "You bitch! Have you been avoiding my calls?"

"No! I promise not—" she started. Her hands fluttered up in a feeble, apologetic gesture.

Trish moved closer. "I have the mind to strangle you right now!" she said, advancing with theatrical menace.

Sylvia moved around the terrace. "I was just—I didn’t know how to—Trish, come on girl! We’re grown-ups!" Her laughter came out in nervous bursts, brittle as glass. But the second she saw Trish’s expression shift—eyes narrowing, lips tightening—Sylvia’s survival instincts kicked in.

Trish broke into a run, and Sylvia shrieked, spinning on her heel to bolt across the terrace. "Don’t you dare! Trish!"

Winn leaned casually against the hood of his car, watching the chase unfold. His lips quirked into a grin. "She seems different," he said.