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person who bandaged their wounds, helped with their homework,
     advised them on their love lives . . . and so much more.
    And somehow, despite her best intentions, she still hadn’t managed to outrun that
     role. She’d even chosen to become an attorney with the idea that a good job would
     ensure everyone always had enough money to get by on. And as a result, she mostly
     supported Amber, who’d worked only at a string of part-time, minimum-wage jobs while
     she pursued her art, and she “loaned” money to Allison and Jay on a regular basis,
     knowing full well that she’d never get it back.
    Though it wasn’t the money that bothered her as much as simply the time it took to
     hold them all together. Whatever needed to be done, it fell to her. Groceries for
     Gram, babysitting, Gram’s doctor’s appointments, picking up this, doing that—you name
     it. And as much as she often tried to say no, she feared that if she didn’t do things,
     they truly wouldn’t get done. And that mattered, especially when it came to Gram.
    All of which was why she didn’t really have time for Kayla’s case. Or to be kissing
     strange men in alleys, for that matter.
    Maybe making out with him had been a form of stress relief. Maybe she’d just needed
     to let go of herself for a few minutes.
    Looking up from her paperwork, she absently found herself Googling Ginger from
Gilligan’s Island
. Her eyebrows shot up when she realized that, wow, they actually looked a little
     alike. If Ginger’s red hair had been more auburn, and if Ginger had been a little
     more conservative—or a lot more conservative.
    For a brief second, she let herself feel . . . flattered. Maybe it felt . . . surprisingly
     fun to be compared to someone—even a fictional character—who had been so glamorous,
     seductive, sought after by men.
    But then she shook her head, clearing it. That was silly.
    And none of this mattered because it was over now.
    Even if she still felt his kisses on her lips.
    Even if she still felt his fingers so near, yet so far, from her still-aching breasts.
    * * *
    A week later, April found herself walking briskly up Ocean Drive, going to meet Kayla
     again. With Ellen’s help and guidance, she’d concluded she could handle Kayla’s divorce
     with relative ease. Hopefully it would be quick and simple—no muss, no fuss—aided
     by the fact that the couple had no children and few assets to fight over. And hopefully
     tonight’s meeting with her client—at a frozen yogurt shop near Kayla’s current place
     of employment, a couple of blocks from the Café Tropico—would be a lot more no muss,
     no fuss than the last one had been. Her first order of business when she’d called
     Kayla to set it up was to explain that it should
not
be in an establishment where her husband hung out with his friends.
    “That’s why I was in a hurry last time,” Kayla had explained. “I work right around
     the corner at a souvenir store and I was supposed to meet him there. And I thought
     it would be okay ’cause he was supposed to work later than me. But he showed up early.
     Sorry.” She’d sounded like a wounded puppy, making April feel guilty for chastising
     her.
    “Well,” April had said on a sigh, “the important thing is that you’re okay, that he
     didn’t hurt you. You
are
okay after that, right?”
    Kayla explained that she’d spent the night with a friend, but that Juan had summoned
     her home the following morning. “He was mad, but he wasn’t too rough on me. He ended
     up believing what you said, that we just ran into each other accidentally.”
    April had breathed out her relief long and deep. It wouldn’t have been her fault if
     Juan had beat the hell out of Kayla, but she still wouldn’t have liked knowing she’d
     been involved in anything that had caused that kind of physical violence. And, of
     course, eventually he would find out she
was
Kayla’s attorney, but hopefully Kayla would be out of his