Who is Maud Dixon?(63)

She hoped that drugging Whitney would cut the evening short and, in the meantime, make her entirely unreliable, so that any references to “Florence Darrow” would be disregarded as the confused babbling of a drunk. She knew she was being overly cautious, but she wanted to keep her new identity entirely uncontaminated. She was Helen Wilcox; there could be no confusion about that.

She tapped the powder gently into one of the cups, then stirred it violently with a knife. She threw out the paper, tossed the knife in the sink, and carried the drinks out to the door. Nick was ushering Whitney and her friend into the apartment.

“Chin-chin,” Florence called out loudly by way of greeting. She handed the cups to the two women. They both looked slightly startled, but took them anyway.

“Alright,” Whitney said with a laugh. “I guess we’re not screwing around tonight.”

“We’re on vacation!” Florence yelled, again too loudly.

“Amen to that! This is my friend Amy, by the way.” Whitney gestured at the athletic-looking brunette next to her. Then she turned to Amy and said, holding out her arm toward Florence, “And this—”

“Oh, let’s skip all the small talk!” Florence interrupted. “It’s dull. Call me Cleopatra! Call me Queen Elizabeth!”

Nick, Whitney, and Amy all looked at her with unconcealed concern. No one said anything. At last Nick broke the silence.

“You okay, babe?” he asked, leaning in close.

“I’m fine, babe! It’s a party! Drink up!” She gestured at their drinks with her beer can and took another sip of warm beer. The rest of them dutifully raised their cups.

Whitney grimaced. Florence hoped it was vodka, not the taste of the pills. But Whitney just said, “Florence, I’ve never seen you like this!”

“It’s been a long time, Whit. I’m a whole new woman.”

“Apparently.”

Florence lowered her voice and leaned in. “Actually, do you think I can talk to you in private for a sec?”

“Um…sure.” Whitney glanced at Amy. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Don’t worry, Whit, I like vodka waaay more than I like you.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Florence pulled Whitney into Nick’s bedroom and closed the door. She eyed the mattress that she and Nick had shared the night before. It looked even more gruesome with the lights on. She sat on it anyway and patted the space next to her. Whitney crouched down awkwardly.

Florence was dreading this conversation, but she had decided she had no choice. She’d determined that she would need to keep Whitney away from the group for at least ten minutes to let the painkillers kick in. She wanted Whitney to be fairly incapacitated by the time she left the room.

“So, I know I said earlier that I didn’t care that you were dating Trevor, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it all afternoon. And actually I’m really upset.”

Whitney covered her face and shook her head. “I knew it.”

Florence bit the inside of her cheek and fought the dueling impulses to laugh in Whitney’s face or to slap it. Trevor had always smelled like Totino’s pizza rolls. He had cried when he took her virginity; not a tear or two, but great, big, heaving sobs. He’d told her that majoring in English would be a “a total waste.” No, she had not spent the last eight years pining for Trevor Gilpin.

“Can you tell me how it happened?” Florence prodded.

Whitney took a sip of her drink. “Well, he works at Verizon too, did you know that?”

“I think my mother mentioned it.”

“He’s a systems engineer.” Whitney looked up to see how that had landed.

“Okay.” Florence didn’t know what a systems engineer was and she didn’t particularly want to find out.

“It’s a super competitive field.”

“I’m sure.”

Whitney nodded and took another sip. She proceeded to recount the story of their relationship: The run-in at the on-site fitness center. How much they had in common. How they were thinking of adopting a cat together.

Florence hated cats.

“I’m so sorry,” Whitney concluded. “I broke the number one rule of friendship.”

Florence suspected that she was the one who’d broken the number one rule of friendship, by unilaterally ending said friendship, but she stayed silent. She rubbed at her eyes and wrinkled her forehead and looked out the window.

“Oh my god, I’m the worst,” Whitney said. “What can I do to fix this?” She was chewing on the rim of her cup. Florence peeked inside—half-empty.

“Are you going to marry him?” Florence asked, for lack of any other ideas for continuing the conversation.

Whitney’s large mouth twitched. She was trying not to smile, Florence realized. “I don’t know,” she said. “I hope so? I’m sorry, is that awful to say?”

Florence didn’t know how much longer she could stand this.

“You know what? I’m happy for you guys. Truly. Let’s toast to you and Trevor.”

“Really?”

“Of course, we’re all adults now.”

Florence raised her beer and tapped it to Whitney’s cup. Whitney took another sip. Florence waved her hand to tell Whitney to keep drinking. “Now this is a celebration! Drink, drink!”