Lies That Bind Us(13)

“Gretchen, this is Jan,” said Melissa. “She used to be with Marcus, ages back, when we first met them. Now they’re just friends.”

I gaped at Melissa, who gave me a blank look as Gretchen awkwardly got to her feet and offered me a slender white hand.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m a friend of Mel and Simon.”

“Hi,” I said. Marcus was looking at Melissa with the same disbelief I was sure was painted all over my face.

“What?” asked Melissa, apparently genuinely confused.

“Nothing,” I said hurriedly, trying to move past it.

“There is,” said Melissa, taking in Marcus’s expression. “Oh, I’m sorry, was that a secret? Did I . . . ?”

“No,” Marcus and I said at once.

“Of course not,” Marcus added.

“I thought it was, you know,” said Melissa, “common knowledge or whatever.”

“It is!” I said, beaming manically.

“And you are still friends, right?” Melissa persisted.

“Absolutely!” said Marcus. “Great friends.”

“Always,” I agreed.

“We just don’t . . . ,” Marcus began, then looked panicky. “Not anymore. We’re just . . .”

“Friends,” I said, staring at him, horrified, wishing the floor would open and the earth would swallow us up. Gretchen gaped at us, eyes wide, smile fixed tight.

“OK,” said Melissa, shrugging the moment off as if it hadn’t happened and going right back to where she had been before. “So, beach, yeah? A little dip before dinner.”

“Won’t it be cold?” asked Gretchen, glad of the chance to change the subject.

“Apparently not,” said Simon, brandishing a guidebook and reading from it theatrically. “‘While the air cools in the fall, the sea retains most of its summer heat into November.’ Apparently we should expect the water to still be in the midseventies.”

He let the book slip from his fingers and fall into the lap of a startled Marcus, its apparent owner, like he was dropping the mic. Everyone laughed with just a bit more verve than the moment deserved.

“I’d better change,” I said, still avoiding Marcus’s eyes.

“That’s right, missy,” said Melissa. “Time to get some sun on that pasty skin!”

I turned to the stairs and she slapped my ass—not hard but somehow managing to get a resounding thwack that echoed round the room.

“Yes!” said Melissa. “Beach! I can’t wait.”

I fled, jogging upstairs and barely breathing till I had the bedroom door closed behind me. It was going to take an act of will to get me to open it again.

But I did. I changed into my swimsuit, slipped a cheery orange sundress over the top (purchased at employee discount but not, I thought, obviously so), and considered Gretchen. She was, I thought, like me in her diffidence, her slightly awkward, hesitant way of carrying herself, even if she did look more like Melissa’s brand of bombshell. It was an odd combination and I wondered how it evolved, how someone with such obvious good looks grew up so mousy.

I still didn’t know who she was or why she was there, nor did I have any idea about whether she was involved with Marcus, or if Melissa had brought her there to become so. It seemed an odd thing to do with me here. I mean, we were just friends, me and Marcus, but Melissa couldn’t know that romance was absolutely off the table for us, not unless Marcus confided way more to Simon than he let on. I felt mildly affronted, then reminded myself that I had no right to be.

And what if Gretchen did get involved with Marcus? What was that to me? He wasn’t why I was here.

I considered myself in the mirror over the sink, staring myself down for a long minute, then snatched up my purse and went downstairs, where the others were waiting.

We piled into the huge Mercedes with our beach bags, chattering happily and smelling of suntan lotion and, in the case of everyone but me, rum. The car was warm, the sky blue, and Melissa’s enthusiasm for the excursion infectious.

“Oh my God, this is so great!” she said. “This place! The weather! All of us together again. And with Kristen and Brad on their way!”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” said Gretchen, starry-eyed. “I love her show.”

“We are going to have the best time ever!” said Melissa, barely listening.

Gretchen gave a shrill whoop and shouted “Yeah!” so unselfconsciously that I was quite impressed, though it also struck me as strange since she didn’t actually know the all of us who were getting back together. Then Melissa was turning up the radio and we were rocking out to the Black Eyed Peas, which, anywhere else, at any other time, would have been absurd but here was perfect, so even Marcus sang along. I felt ten years younger and forgot my annoyance with Gretchen. Melissa was right. This was going to be great after all.

That feeling flagged a little after an hour and a half but perked up again as we pulled into the Minos. We were still singing, bobbing in our seats like kids.

“We are so white!” Gretchen exclaimed to Marcus. “Aren’t we just so white?”

Marcus’s eyes widened slightly and he smiled that puzzled, disbelieving smile I knew so well.

“Pretty white,” he agreed, indulgently.