One of Us is Lying(40)
“Oh. Right. Okay. Good night, Nate.”
“Good night.” I hang up and place the two phones side by side, pick up the remote, and shut off the TV. Might as well go to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Addy
Saturday, October 6, 9:30 a.m.
I’m at home with Ashton and we’re trying to figure out something to do. But we keep getting stuck on the fact that nothing interests me.
“Come on, Addy.” I’m lying across an armchair, and Ashton nudges me with her foot from the couch. “What would you normally do on a weekend? And don’t say hang out with Jake,” she adds quickly.
“But that is what I’d do,” I whine. Pathetic, but I can’t help it. I’ve had this awful sickening lurch in my stomach all week, as though I’d been walking along a sturdy bridge and it vanished under my feet.
“Can you honestly not come up with a single, non-Jake-related thing you like?”
I shift in my seat and consider the question. What did I do before Jake? I was fourteen when we started dating, still partly a kid. My best friend was Rowan Flaherty, a girl I’d grown up with who moved to Texas later that year. We’d drifted apart in ninth grade when she had zero interest in boys, but the summer before high school we’d still ridden our bikes all over town together. “I like riding my bike,” I say uncertainly, even though I haven’t been on one in years.
Ashton claps her hands as if I’m a reluctant toddler she’s trying to get excited about a new activity. “Let’s do that! Ride bikes somewhere.”
Ugh, no. I don’t want to move. I don’t have the energy. “I gave mine away years ago. It was half-rusted under the porch. And you don’t have one anyway.”
“We’ll use those rental bikes—what are they called? Hub Bikes or something? They’re all over town. Let’s find some.”
I sigh. “Ash, you can’t babysit me forever. I appreciate you keeping me from falling apart all week, but you’ve got a life. You should get back to Charlie.”
Ashton doesn’t answer right away. She goes into the kitchen, and I hear the refrigerator door opening and the faint clink of bottles. When she returns she’s holding a Corona and a San Pellegrino, which she hands to me. She ignores my raised eyebrows—it’s not even ten o’clock in the morning—and takes a long sip of beer as she sits down, crossing her legs beneath her. “Charlie’s happy as can be. I’m guessing he’s moved his girlfriend in by now.”
“What?” I forget how tired I am and sit up straight.
“I caught them when I went home to get more clothes last weekend. It was all so horribly clichéd. I even threw a vase at his head.”
“Did you hit him?” I ask hopefully. And hypocritically, I guess. After all, I’m the Charlie in my and Jake’s relationship. She shakes her head and takes another gulp of her beer.
“Ash.” I move from my armchair and sit next to her on the couch. She’s not crying, but her eyes are shiny, and when I put my hand on her arm she swallows hard. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say something?”
“You had enough to worry about.”
“But it’s your marriage!” I can’t help looking at Ashton and Charlie’s wedding photo from two years ago, which sits next to my junior prom picture on our mantel. They were such a perfect couple, people used to joke that they looked as though they came with the frame. Ashton had been so happy that day, gorgeous and glowing and giddy.
And relieved. I’d tried to squash the idea because I knew it was catty, but I couldn’t help thinking Ashton had feared losing Charlie right up till the day she married him. He was tremendous on paper—handsome, good family, headed to Stanford Law—and our mother had been thrilled. It wasn’t until they’d been married a year that I noticed Ashton almost never laughed when Charlie was around.
“It’s been over for a while, Addy. I should have left six months ago, but I was too much of a coward. I didn’t want to be alone, I guess. Or admit I’d failed. I’ll find my own place eventually, but I’ll be here for a while.” She shoots me a wry look. “All right. I’ve made my true confession. Now you tell me something. Why did you lie when Officer Budapest asked about being in the nurse’s office the day Simon died?”
I let go of her arm. “I didn’t—”
“Addy. Come on. You started playing with your hair as soon as he brought it up. You always do that when you’re nervous.” Her tone’s matter-of-fact, not accusing. “I don’t believe for one second you took those EpiPens, so what are you hiding?”
Tears prick my eyes. I’m so tired, suddenly, of all the half-truths I’ve piled up over the past days and weeks. Months. Years. “It’s so stupid, Ash.”
“Tell me.”
“I didn’t go for myself. I went to get Tylenol for Jake, because he had a headache. And I didn’t want to say so in front of you because I knew you’d give me that look.”
“What look?”
“You know. That whole Addy-you’re-such-a-doormat look.”
“I don’t think that,” Ashton says quietly. A fat tear rolls down my cheek, and she reaches over to brush it away.