The People We Keep(59)

When Rosemary finally answers the door, she sighs hard like this is boring for her, but I see the tremble in her cheek.

“Give back my wallet,” I say.

“Wait here.” She’s wearing a huge grey sweater and goldenrod-colored tights that make her knees look like doorknobs.

I follow her into the kitchen. There are dead roses in a coffee mug on the counter. Dishes piled high in the sink. Carly must have been the one who cleaned.

“I didn’t invite you in,” Rosemary says.

“I didn’t give you my wallet as a present.”

Her hands shake as she grabs the wallet off the counter. I snatch it from her and count my money.

“Oh, it’s all there,” she says. “I don’t need your tip jar change.”

I turn to leave and I’m almost to the door when she says, “There is one thing. I mean, I’m curious. What’s a child doing running around with a college student? There are laws about that.”

“What are you talking about?” I say, trying to keep the shock from my face even though my pulse is pounding so hard she can probably feel it.

“I washed your license. Chalk came right off.”

“It was a mistake,” I say. “They messed up at the DMV.”

“Bullshit.” Rosemary isn’t shaking anymore. “You’re just some random trashy kid and you need to go back to whatever hellhole Little River is and leave us alone.” Her eyes meet mine and even though she’s trying to be furious I can see her heartbreak. “We would have worked everything out,” she says. “Carly wouldn’t have left if you didn’t push your way in.”

“She lost a lot for you,” I say. “She needed support.” I know I shouldn’t speak for Carly, but I feel like if I try maybe Rosemary could change her mind.

“You can’t know what she needs. You’re a baby.” Rosemary gets close and wrinkles her mouth to mock me. It’s so ugly. Her breath is hot on my face. “Go home and cry to mommy.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” I shout, but my words sound so useless.

“I know enough about you,” she says, “I’ll go into Decadence. I’ll tell everyone Carly is fucking a child.”

I can feel my world breaking apart like an old barn in a hurricane. “I’m not sleeping with Carly.”

“I’m not stupid,” Rosemary says.

I almost blurt out that I have a boyfriend but stop myself just in time. Carly isn’t that much older than me and we’re friends and that’s truth. If any of this leads back to Adam, it means real trouble for sure.

“I only acted like that so Carly could save face,” I tell her.

“I saw you two holding hands in The Commons last week. You didn’t even see me. In the bathroom at The Haunt. That wasn’t for my benefit.”

“We’re friends.” My throat tightens.

“Yeah. I bet you are.”

“It’s not like that!” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying. “Carly is the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Carly is twenty years old. Why would she want to be your friend? You’re a child. You don’t know anything.”

I feel this weird twist in my mind. Like everything is slow motion and I can see it clearly—how fragile and sheltered and stupid Rosemary is. I wonder what it would feel like to crack her in half like a dried-out twig. “If she doesn’t love you,” I say, “it’s because of you, not me.”

Rosemary’s face flushes. She’s shaking again. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

When my feet hit the front step, she says, “I made a copy of your license. I can call the police any time. What do you think other people will think of your friendship?”

She slams the door behind me so hard it sounds like it probably cracked in two.

I don’t look back to see if it did. I just leave.





— Chapter 30 —


I can’t even remember driving back to Adam’s place. I’m just here, in my car outside, shaking. When I get into the apartment, I run to the bathroom and heave up everything I ate for breakfast, retching until there’s nothing left. There isn’t time to cry. There just isn’t.

I throw my clothes into the plastic grocery bags Adam keeps in an empty paper towel roll under the kitchen sink and think about ways to fix things. I could bribe Rosemary. I could tell Carly and she could convince Rosemary. But eventually, it would all lead back to Adam. Eventually, someone would find out and he’d get hurt. And if I tried to stay, I’d always be waiting for it. I’d be sitting around waiting for Adam’s life to be completely ruined over something he’d never have done if he’d known. Not in a million years.

I empty my dresser drawers, the ones he cleared out to make room for me, and grab the slippers I bought at House of Shalimar from under the bed. I leave the record player and the records I bought for him by the Christmas tree. I wish I had time to wrap them, wish I was going to be with him on Christmas morning to watch him open them. I sit at the card table in the kitchen and write a note on the back of an envelope. I write that it’s because there’s something wrong with me and I just need to go and it’s killing me and I’ll never stop missing him. I sign it: I love you always, April.