“Bill texted me that you were going into the office, and I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d surprise you for lunch.”
“You should have called first,” I muttered. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“So take a break and pick it up later.”
“Later, I have other things to do.”
“How?” she asked. “You work nonstop, and it’sSaturdayfor God’s sake. What could be so important? I haven’t talked to you in weeks.”
I wasn’t avoiding her. I was avoidingeveryonein my personal life. They were all reminders of what I’d done, what I could’ve lost because of my reckless night. What Ihadlost the next morning. Facing my friends and family meant facing a reality I didn’t like. “My schedule has been full with this promotion,” I explained. “Beman has me under impossible deadlines. They need me.”
“I know they do, but I need you, too.Weneed you. Come downstairs—lunch is on me.”
“Fine,” I said, exhaling forcefully.
There was a brief pause on the line as I saved the document on my computer.
“Fine?” Gretchen repeated after a moment. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I made a special trip over here to take you to lunch.”
“You said you were in the neighborhood.”
Her voice softened. “I miss you.”
“Look, I said I’d come. Just give me a minute.” I hung up before she could respond and proceeded to lock up the office.
Downstairs, a deep breath of fresh air helped. Gretchen waited in a sleeveless tank top and denim cut-offs. Despite her casual outfit, she’d curled her bright blonde hair into perfect ringlets as usual.
I tucked some of my hair behind my ear as I approached her, then pulled my sweater closed.
“Aren’t you hot?” she asked. “It’s the dead of summer.”
I shook my head. “I only have an hour.”
She rolled those big blue eyes of hers, pulled on my arm, and started walking. “Then you’d better get talking.”
“Talking?”
“Yes. It’s time to have a conversation, and that’s why I’m buying you lunch.”
“What’s the topic of this conversation?” I asked. “And don’t say Davena Donovan, because that’s all anyone ever wants to talk about.”
“Because youwon’t,” she pointed out. “You won’t talk to Bill about it, you won’t talk to us, and you refuse to see a shrink. Forget about poor Mack.” She waved her hand. “He’s beside himself, and you can’t even pick up the phone.”
My heart stopped along with my feet. “Who told you that?”
“Bill.”
“Wow,” I said. She continued walking, so I ran to catch up to her. “No wonder you sound exactly like Bill. Do you guys get together and talk about me? Have little powwows about how to get me to spill my guts? Well, here’s a tip—get a new hobby, because there’s nothing to spill. I loved Davena, but I’ve made my peace with her passing. Life goes on, Gretchen.”
She muttered something under her breath.
“What?” I asked.
She sighed. “Liv, you can talk to me,” she said in an atypically delicate voice.
I glanced down at the pavement as we walked, willing myself to stay calm. “Everything is fine. You don’t need to worry.”
“I do, though. You never talk about her, and you haven’t seen Mack since the funeral. It’s not healthy, and . . .” Her eyes drifted over me. “It shows.”
