That was Frances: always direct, no filter. Trey blinked and shrugged. His expression changed subtly as he reflected on the question.
“Yeah.”
I believed him.
“What about before?”
“No.”
Again, I believed him, and I couldn’t help but see him differently because, for a moment, I had the feeling that the guy I knew was no longer there, that this was just someone who looked like him.
“There you have it, then. She saw something in you. Why? I don’t know. Maybe that was just another of her many gifts,” Frances whispered. She was clearly moved. “She saw something in me, too, and she wasn’t wrong about it.”
Trey must have realized then that she and my grandmother had a very special relationship, because he came close to her and squeezed her shoulder softly.
“I’m very sorry. She was always so kind to me.”
A lone tear fell down Frances’s cheek, and she nodded. Then she turned and left us alone, taking her coffee with her.
In the dead space afterward, I looked at the white canvas of his face, which showed no emotion, at least not at first. But then it changed as he reproached me, “What was that all about before? Do you have some kind of problem with me?”
Is that why he had followed me, to ask me that? I raised my chin, defiant, but inside I was feeling strange, meek, as though I had shrunken in front of him. His stare drilled into me as he waited warily for me to say something.
“Do I have a problem with you? You know the answer to that question.”
But judging from his face, he didn’t seem to.
“I do, do I? And what is it I supposedly know?”
I closed my eyes and my lips. Those words unsettled me even more than his presence. He knew as well as I did what the problem was, and him being there pretending to be innocent was a joke. I was hurting; he was digging up feelings I had buried as deep as I could.
I swallowed my frustration and walked toward the door. I opened it and held it, almost on my tiptoes, wanting to appear taller, more dignified, more…just more. Even that was absurd, pathetic, because Trey was a foot taller than me and a foot broader, and he looked like a grown man while I was still just a girl. I mean, I even still got carded when I went to bars!
He clenched his jaw at my invitation to go back where he’d come from. His expression was icy, livid. For a tenth of a second, he seemed to grin, and I saw the Trey I was used to: proud, sarcastic, selfish. The kind of guy I’d never get close to—the guy I’d fallen in love with before I knew who he really was.
He passed by me like a windstorm and disappeared.
For a few seconds, I stared at the ground, feeling something breakagain inside me. I pushed the door closed and leaned into it, covering my face with my hands.
I thought I’d gotten over him. I thought that when the time came, I could handle bumping into him again.
How naive I was!
3
People Say Time Heals All Wounds
I had agreed to meet Hayley at an Italian restaurant close to the Museum of Fine Arts. I got out of the taxi and saw my sister waiting for me by the entrance.
She looked stunning in her dark jeans, white shirt, and flats. She’d left her hair down, and it fell over her shoulders like a dark, shimmering cascade. My sister was beautiful, with a dark tan and eyes the color of obsidian. Her features were much more pronounced than mine: well-defined nose and cheekbones and a little dimple in her chin, just like Hoyt’s. Of course, they were twins.
I waved at her from the sidewalk, and we hugged when I reached her. I had never gotten used to how much I missed Hayley, no matter how many years we’d spent apart. We talked on the phone often about whatever—usually stupid stuff that helped us stop thinking about our worries at work and with life in general. But those calls didn’t make up for all the time we spent hundreds of miles away from each other.
“Hayley, you look great!”
“You, too, little sister.” She seemed worried. “You look thin, though.”
“Don’t start. I’m not dying of hunger.”
