Not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I’d been thinking of little else since I saw her forty-eight hours ago. Dreaming up our dialogue. Or, more accurately, my cutting take-down of heractions.
“I had a bit of a rough weekend.” Lameexcuse.
“Not the good kind of rough weekend, I take it?” She’s making a joke, but her eyes don’t hold anylaughter.
I look up at her, and suddenly my chest feels tight. My lower lip twitches, maybe I’d even call it a tremble, but I refuse to cry atwork.
“Oh, God, this is bad.” Britt looks horrified. She picks up my cell phone, fingers pressing the screen, then she puts it to herear.
“Hi,” she says after a few seconds. I watch and listen. She orders two sandwiches and salads from the place on the first floor of ourbuilding.
“What about your teppanyaki?”
She waves a hand in the air as if the promise of freshly prepared Japanese food is longforgotten.
“Let’s go.” She hands me mypurse.
We’re quiet until we get outside with our lunch. Britt has found us a little table off the entrance to the building, and she’s already unwrapping hersandwich.
“So, this weekend’s family trip wasn’t a hit?” She takes a bite. A few strands of julienned lettuce fall onto thetable.
“No, that wasn’t it,” I open my sandwich and pick out the onions. Britt takes them from me and hands me her pickles. “Actually, that part was great. Isaac is…” I think back to our weekend. “He’s kind of amazing.” My voice is soft. It feels like an admittance, something I’m not supposed to say outloud.
Britt’s head bobs. Normally she would be hounding me for more information, but she knows there’s more to thestory.
“And?”
I set down my food, trading my sandwich for the coral and gold bib necklace I’m wearing. My fingers bump alone the stones. “The town he took us to… Sugar Creek. Their resident blueberry muffin baker—” I stop when Britt’s mouth openswide.
“No,” she gasps. She knows how, and why, I abhor the baked treat. Her head moves back and forth, slowly. “It’s notpossible.”
My lips twist. “I’m afraidso.”
“Please tell me you confronted her. Please tell me you demanded to know what the fuck she’s been doing all these years.” Her fist slams down on the table. She’s half-standing, leaning toward me over thetable.
I want to tell her that of course I was brave and strong. Like she would be. I saw the women who broke my heart and demanded answers. But,no.
I was acoward.
Her indignation over, Britt lowers herself until she’s back in her seat. She looks as if she’s in pain.Like Isaacdid.
“You didn’t say anything to her, did you?” Her voice is full of pity. Because I did nothing? Or because it was done to me in the firstplace?
I look at my hands. They’re in my lapnow.
“Did she seeyou?”
I shrug, meeting Britt’s eyes. “I’m not sure. She was carrying a tray of muffins. But she spoke to me. She said she stayed at the same cabin when she came to town eighteen yearsago.”
Britt makes a disgusted, grunting sound in the back of herthroat.
“I ran out. She must’ve watched me go.” I chew my lip, trying to see myself through her eyes. Or the eyes of the girl at the register. What had I looked like, running away like that? Did I make any noise? Cause a commotion? I was there, I lived it, but for some reason I can’t rememberit.
“And she didn’t go afteryou?”
My eyes close for a long moment. “No.” In hindsight, I’m mad at myself. If only I were stronger. If only I could have spoken her name, forced her to look at me, waited for her to realize who I was. Why couldn’t I dothat?
Britt comes to my side of the table, sliding across the bench until she’s beside me. “I’m sorry,Aubrey.”
