“Mrs. Clancy corroborated it,” she adds. “Jason was helping Mr. Clancy home. He’d gotten too drunk to drive.”
“Jason is a good Samaritan?” I let out a cough of a laugh.
Faith leans back slightly. “I didn’t believe him at first either. I thought he was lying. I thought you two…” She doesn’t finish it.
I stare at the balcony railing. I’m perfectly still, but everything inside of me is squirming. This is excruciating.
She says, “I almost lost him because of you.”
“How’s that for irony?” I try for a weak smile.
“So, you owe me.”
The guilt I’ve been carrying since that night shifts shape. Back then, I wanted them to break up. I wanted Faith to suffer the same pain she put me through. It felt like justice. But the whole time, there was a voice in the back of my mind that argued against it. Said that I shouldn’t put her through such pain, because I knew how badly it hurt, and I should never want that for my sister.
I shoved that voice down and drowned it with vodka.
But that’s not the only guilt I have about that night. There’s Damian. Using him. Not telling him why. Keeping his resulting sons from him.
There has to be a bigger word than guilt for what I’m feeling right now.
Faith doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t accuse me, like I half expect her to. She just watches, patient in a way that feels rehearsed. “You went to his childhood bedroom. You left something there.”
I swallow. The balcony suddenly feels smaller. “I was angry, Faith.”
“Clearly.”
It’s not a question. The truth sits between us like another place setting at the table. Apparently, we’ve come to the no-longer-pretending portion of our tea time.
“I was humiliated,” she says softly. “Not because I thought he cheated. But because I thought you wanted to take him back.”
The words sting more than the accusation.
“I don’t want Jason,” I say immediately.
“You used to.”
“Not for a very long time. Almost a year now.”
She studies my face like she’s trying to see through it.
“I’ve moved on,” I insist.
“With who?” she asks.
I look away toward the river. “That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
I don’t answer.
Faith leans forward slightly. “You almost broke us. The love of my life. The man I will marry.” She folds her hands again. “So yes. You owe me.”
“And being your maid of honor is…what? Punishment?”
“Penance,” she corrects gently. The word is somehow heavier than punishment. “I want you standing next to me. I want you seeing it. Seeing what I have and what you will never have again. Seeing that I chose him and he chose me.”
“You hate me this much?”
