Friends Like These(14)

“I’m serious, Keith.” Derrick’s tone was stern. “This was supposed to be Jonathan’s weekend. What if I’d brought Beth?”

“Beth?” I gave a mock shudder. I looked over at Finch, who was chatting away with Maeve and Jonathan now. They were both smiling. Finch could be charming when he wanted to be. “I don’t know, he seems to be doing okay.”

“It’s a problem, Keith. This entire situation. You’re too beholden to Finch, and he’s— ” He shot a nasty look in Finch’s direction. “All he cares about is himself. Maybe this thing between the two of you has run its course. He’s not worth— ”

“Killing myself over?”

Derrick pressed his lips together. “Finch is definitely not worth killing yourself over.”

“Don’t worry about me, man.” I clapped a hand on Derrick’s back. “I’ve got a plan to get Finch and me into a better power equilibrium.”

Derrick. He was the plan. It had just occurred to me at that very moment. Derrick could explain to Finch the situation with London, maybe break the news in a way that softened the blow. Finch listened to Derrick, which was fucking hilarious, considering no one else did— not even Derrick’s own wife. Maybe it was because Finch had been a bit of a loser and Derrick an overachiever when they were kids.

“What’s with the long faces over here?” Finch boomed as he appeared behind us. “Loosen up, fellas. This is supposed to be fun, remember? It’s a bachelor party. We should be getting wasted and hooking up— ”

“It’s not that kind of bachelor party,” Derrick cut him off. “It’s more like, um, I don’t know— a brunch.”

Finch laughed. “Man, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“No one is going to hook up, that’s what I mean,” Derrick said. “Or get wasted.”

“Did that wife of yours finally cut your dick off, Derrick?” Finch asked.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Finch was a motherfucker, but he had a point: Beth was as forgiving as a razor blade.

“Shut up, Finch.” Derrick shot him a look.

“Just be sure to stay away from Maeve,” I said. Stirring up someone else’s pot to distract from my own shit stew. “She and Derrick have a thing.”

“What are you talking about?” Derrick squeaked. “We don’t have a thing.”

“Come on, you and Maeve have a thing, Derrick,” I said, but more seriously now. They did, and Beth was making Derrick miserable. “I’m just saying: life’s short, you know?”

I knew this firsthand. The mistake of thinking you had time.

“Knock it off, Keith,” Derrick said as his eyes shot over to Maeve on the other side of the room. “We do not have a— ”

The doorbell rang. The sound was like a fist in my gut.

“Who’s that?” Maeve asked Jonathan breezily.

My palms were already damp, and all I could hear was my breathing.

“I have no idea.” Jonathan gave a casual shrug.

But I saw the look on his face, the fear in his eyes. It was the same feeling that was lodged in the back of my own throat— the sick realization that something you’ve been trying to outrun has finally caught up with you.





ALICE


Everyone is acting like there’s nothing we can do now except pretend it didn’t happen. But it did happen. We all know that it did. And we could still say something. There’s still time for the truth.

And I know— maybe I only care so much because I’m the most to blame for what happened. I was angry at Keith when we walked into the Dutch Cabin. Not just because his hands were on some other girl at the party. But because his hands were always on some girl, at some party. Lately, I was starting to wonder if he was actually doing it on purpose. Like maybe he wanted me to break up with him.

So I decided I was going to find a guy and hurt Keith back. And if there was a kind of guy Keith cared about, it would have been the guy I spotted at the far end of the Dutch Cabin in his canvas work jacket and heavy boots. A real man who worked with his hands.

Not like Keith the artist. Keith the asshole. Because Keith is an asshole. I know that now. And with the way they’re acting, I’m starting to think maybe the rest of my friends are, too.

Did I get what I wanted? Did I maybe make Keith angry enough that he pushed— I don’t really think that. Other people saw it happen, anyway— Derrick, Maeve. All night the guy had been after Maeve, couldn’t take his eyes off her, which was a little irritating, but also good for Maeve. She still doesn’t realize how gorgeous she’s become.

The sick part is that there was a tiny part of me that hoped for a second Keith had gotten jealous enough to push somebody off a roof. But no, the guy was just drunk, and he fell.

Accidents happen. What doesn’t usually happen is the witnesses deciding not to call an ambulance and instead scurrying away in the dark like rats.

Days later, it’s like life has just gone on for my friends. And me? Am I some saint? No, not even close. Because I’ve wondered more than once whether Keith will think twice now before he touches another girl.





DETECTIVE JULIA SCUTT


SUNDAY, 4:43 A.M.