All's Well(71)

“What else could there possibly be, Ms. Fitch?”

My soul? My life? I look down at the rose. It’s rotted. Turned the color gray in my hands. The red petals are black, dried up, the stem shriveled. I look up, horror in my heart, ready to accuse them, ready to cry—

And then I see her. Standing at the foot of the staircase, her hand gripping the rail. Behind her just one flight of stairs. An open door that leads right to the bar. I can see the bartender who directed me down here. Still standing behind the bar, polishing his dirty glass that will remain dirty for time eternal.

“Grace?”

She stares at me, still holding the rotted rose in my hand. Like she’s never seen me before.

“Grace. How long have you been standing there?”

She turns around and runs up the staircase and out of the bar.

“Grace, wait!”



* * *



I’m running to catch up with her on the dark street. Barely lit with streetlamps. A joke of a street. Lined with shops full of fake witchery. How many times have Grace and I walked these streets together? She’s walking so quickly now. Ahead of me, as far ahead as her legs can carry her. I feel a twinge in my hip as I jog to catch up. A little lash of pain down my leg. Oh god oh god oh god.

“Grace! Please, wait. Where are you going?”

“Where does it look like? To my car.”

“But don’t you want to talk?”

“Not anymore.”

“Grace, wait. You’re walking so fast. Please don’t walk so fast.”

“Leave me alone, Miranda.”

She’s reached the parking lot. Her car is the only one in it at this hour. A sensible RAV4 shining in the dark. Silver, of course. Four-wheel drive. Spotless despite all the hiking day trips she takes into the mountains, all the drives on dirt roads. How many times have I sat in that car, in the passenger seat, in the back seat on my worst days, my legs propped on her dead dog’s pillow, the top of my head pressing into the door, while she drove me to the outpatient surgery? Waited in the waiting room, flipping shitty magazines. When they wheeled me out, she sat in the chair beside my gurney, checking her phone.

Sorry, I kept saying through the fog of Valium.

Don’t be, she said.

I remember the first time she came with me, we drove past a Jamba Juice on the way home. I thought how wonderful it would be to have an icy drink. Something brightly colored and cold and sweet, though I didn’t dare say so. And she stopped the car right in front of it. And she turned to me and said, What do you want? And I cried. It was one of the few times I ever really wept in front of Grace. She didn’t know what to do. At last, she put her hand on my thigh. I’ll choose for you, all right? How about that? She began to get out of the car.

Pumpkin delight! I shouted through my tears. And I could hear her smile as she shut the door and ran toward the store entrance. I watched her through the windshield. Running so easily, so lightly on her legs. And I loved her and hated her and loved her.

Now I look at Grace jogging lightly to her car, her ballet slipper key chain jangling in her fist. The back seat where I sat seems like another country. If she gets in her car now, she’ll drive away. She’ll never look back.

I run ahead of her. It’s suddenly easy for me. Can I tell you how easy it is? For me to sprint ahead and beat Grace to her car? She stops in front of me. Is she afraid? If she is, she doesn’t show it. And why would she be afraid of me, anyway? I’m her friend, aren’t I?

“Let me get in my car, please, Miranda,” she’s saying. Not even looking at me. She can’t. I’m reprehensible in her eyes now. I’m a horror show. Monstrous. How I’m standing before her in my red poppy dress. The way the skirt billows up in the breeze. I keep pushing it back down like I think I’m Marilyn Monroe.

“Grace.” I reach a hand out.

She backs away. Almost instinctually.

I lower my hand slowly, calmly. Okay. Okay, be rational. Stay in the world of reason. Be a creature of reason, a creature like Grace.

“Look, I just want to talk to you. Please. For just a second.”

Grace is shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk, Miranda.”

“But didn’t you come here wanting to talk to me? Isn’t that why you followed me here?”

“Yes, but now I feel differently. Now there’s nothing to talk about.” Even in the dark, I can see her face is not revealing anything. Now she’s staring at me like I’m someone else. Like she’s seeing me for the first time. Her eyes are a wall. Briana. Did she hear us talking about Briana? Did I admit something?

“How long were you standing there?” I ask her.

She looks down at the rotting rose I’m still clutching between my fingers. Why am I still clutching it like this? But I don’t dare drop it now.

“Long enough.”

“Look, Grace, I can explain. Please just let me explain.”

“All right, Miranda, explain. Who were those men?”

“Honestly?”

She stares at me.

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

She starts walking past me toward the car. I’m a waste of time. I’m a waste. But I block her with my body. I’m standing right in front of the driver’s side door.

“Grace, please don’t walk away like this. Look, you don’t know what you saw.”