Friends Like These(67)

Right. I looked up at him and smiled. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” And that was the absolute truth.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “But please, stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” I asked, trying to ignore how lightheaded I felt.

“Like I’ve betrayed you,” Derrick said, and he sounded so sad, heartbroken really. “Because honestly I would never, ever do that.”

I nodded. “That’s good to know.”

Except he already had betrayed me, and in such a secretive, sneaky, manipulative way.

“But I do also want to say: you deserve better,” he added in a rush, as if it was hard for him to get that part out.

“What do you mean?”

“Your phone— you’ve seemed disappointed each time you looked at it this weekend. It’s none of my business, and I don’t know what’s going on. But I do know you deserve not to feel bad.”

“I’m not disappointed.” But my cheeks were on fire now.

I had finally gotten a text back from Bates: Sorry, got caught up. See you soon. No “love” or anything. But I felt sure we could get past whatever these doubts were he had about me. I could do a better job of opening up. I would, finally.

“Okay.” Derrick gestured helplessly. “Well, then, I think I should go shower,” he said, heading for the stairs. He looked different to me as I watched him go, standing a little taller, stronger now that he’d unburdened himself.

“Derrick,” I called after him. Because I couldn’t very well leave it like that. “Um, thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, brightening a little.

“For being a good friend,” I said. “I— I appreciate your honesty. It’s not easy, but— you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Derrick nodded, and smiled tentatively, hopefully. “Good.”





TWO WEEKS (AND FIVE DAYS) EARLIER


Jonathan approaches Gramercy Tavern, looking handsome in his well-tailored suit. On his phone, of course, as he crosses the street— dangerously distracted as usual, stressed by some business or family call. Despite what people think, Jonathan’s life is not easy. Money does not solve all problems— certainly it hasn’t eased the pressure Jonathan’s father puts on him. Even this lunch date for the two of them— every Friday at 1:00 p.m. in the exact same place, no exceptions or excuses— is like some sort of test. You do have to feel for Jonathan, living his life to please someone who will never be satisfied.

That’s surely why Jonathan has always been excessively generous with countless friends in countless ways. Connections, jobs, money, boyfriends— even back at Vassar, Jonathan handed it all out like it was nothing. And I mean, in a way, it is nothing to Jonathan— he has so much of everything. Still, it’s led to problems. Bad things happen when you expect people to be generous in return. Bad things have happened. People take advantage. Maybe even Jonathan has his limit.

Still, it’s very hard to imagine that Jonathan— of all people— is the one. I feel like I’d know.

When Jonathan reaches the restaurant door, he stops. He is still on the phone, not with his father, surely not now that he’s so close. Someone else then— Keith? He is definitely too generous with Keith, another example of how the best intentions really can cause the worst problems. With Keith, Jonathan’s generosity is like a deluge after days of drought— anything left worth saving gets washed away in a flash flood.

Jonathan’s consuming call could also be something with the fiancé, Peter. From what I’ve seen, Peter is up to something. Something that will be very bad for Jonathan. Part of me wants to warn him. But a bigger part of me knows that people get attached to the lies they tell themselves. The last thing they want is somebody picking at their scabs— even if it is for their own good. And I know firsthand, old wounds sometimes bleed harder the second time around.





DETECTIVE JULIA SCUTT


SUNDAY, 2:24 P.M.

I enter the interview room alone, having left Dan with Jane’s files to check one more time for Hoff’s statement. Jonathan is leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. Maeve’s head is resting on the table, on top of her folded hands. Meanwhile, Stephanie is pacing back and forth, chewing on a fingernail.

Jane— now everything is making me think of her.

Jane did hate nail biting, though. She was always squealing at Bethany to quit it whenever she gnawed at her hands, which was almost all the time. Even Mike Gaffney commented on it once: “You’ll have enough troubles getting a boy without chewing your fingers to stumps.” It was true Bethany was not an attractive girl— overweight, bad complexion, limp hair, glasses— I did remember that. But then it was hard for anyone not to suffer in Jane’s shadow.

And Jane had told Mike Gaffney to shut up, hadn’t she? She was always so protective of Bethany, who had so much less than Jane in every way. Everyone thought they made an odd pair. Everyone except Jane that is, who never could see beyond her feelings for the people she loved.

I wonder now if it could have been something as stupid and simple as that— Jane telling off Mike Gaffney— that had gotten her and Bethany killed.

“Oh, you’re back— finally,” Stephanie says, not bothering to hide her irritation. “Listen, we want to help, but you and I both know you can’t hold us here indefinitely unless we’re suspects. We’re tired and uncomfortable. We want to leave. Now.”