“You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?” Arden said bitterly.
Lydia squinted at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve always resented Miles. You never liked it when I spent time with him instead of you. Do you know how hard I had to work to keep you from getting jealous? Like I needed the extra stress!”
I caused this,I thought, ribs tightening like a vise. If the argument escalated much further, their friendship might never recover, and how would I live with myself then?
“It was me,” I said, before either of them could accuse the other of something worse. “This whole thing is my fault.”
“No, it’s not.” Arden rubbed her eyes. “This started way before we met you.”
“I mean with Alex.”
Lydia’s mouth compressed into an angry line. “You physically overpowered him and forced him to stick his tongue down your throat?”
“He asked me to dance, but that was just being nice. Since I was alone.”
“Some guys can smell weakness,” Lydia said. “They always go after the vulnerable ones.”
“Why were you in the hall?” Terry asked quietly.
“He thought I was shy about dancing in public.”
“And then?” Lydia said in her courtroom voice.
“We just kind of ... kissed.”
Lydia didn’t hide her skepticism. “Out of the blue, Alex Ritter asked you to dance and kissed you and you decided, why not?”
“We talked once or twice. Before tonight.”
Arden frowned. “You never mentioned that.”
I looked at my hands, knotted in my lap. “I wasn’t sure what to say. It felt awkward.”
“Talking to Alex?” Lydia asked.
I shook my head.
“Talking to us.” Arden’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “But we trusted you, Mary.Itrusted you.” She broke off, shaking her head. “I broke up with Miles because of what you said. And the whole time, you were seeing Alex Ritter behind our backs?”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said miserably.
Excuses crowded my brain. I didn’t realize! I was too naive to understand what it meant when he teased me, or touched my hair, or stood close enough to whisper in my ear! But it was too late to play the ingénue, when I’d been pretending to know it all. Nor could I stomach another half-truth. Every time I’d kept Alex a secret, I’d deceived all of us—myself included.
“He had lipstick on his neck.” Terry didn’t present the information as a gotcha, but it was damning nonetheless. “Forensic evidence,” she added, sounding almost apologetic.
“I don’t believe this,” Lydia said.
“I’m sorry.” Choking on a sob, I threw open the car door and ran.
Dear Diary,
Whenever I heard the phrasedark night of the soul, I used to imagine Christmas Eve, when you’re too excited to sleep.
Now I know better.
M.P.M.
