Just One of the Guys(84)

Lucia’s house is even smaller than mine, a snug little place on a tree-lined street. There’s only Lucia’s car in the driveway, and I don’t hear any noise coming from the open windows. Climbing the front steps, I knock and wait, then knock again. Buttercup flops down, exhausted. Finally, I hear the sound of footsteps. There’s a pause.

“Go away, Chastity,” comes Lucia’s voice.

“Nah,” I reply. “Come on. Open up.”

“No. Just go away.”

“I’m perfectly capable of kicking in this door, you know,” I say. “Or I might just lean on the buzzer and drive you insane.”

“I’ll call the police,” she says.

“Really?” I ask.

The door opens. “Probably not,” she admits. Her face is dull, her hair flat. Without makeup, she looks different…softer and definitely younger. I remember that we’re about the same age, though she always strikes me as older. She’s wearing pink silky pajamas, and the TV is on Mute in the background. Where are her friends, parents, sisters, brothers, dog, whatever? Where is that bitchy sister of hers from the E.R.? Why is she here alone on the worst night of her life?

“I’m so sorry,” I say, and without thinking, I put my arms around her and kiss her cheek. “What a shitty, shitty thing to have to deal with.”

Lucia bursts into tears.

“It’s okay, hon,” I say. “It’ll be okay.”

“That dog is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” She sobs.

“Shh,” I murmur. “You’ll hurt her feelings. Can she come in?”

“Sure.”

Fifteen minutes later, Buttercup is belly-up in front of Lucia’s fireplace, jowls sagging to the floor, ears spread out, paws frozen in the air. She looks like roadkill. Lu herself doesn’t look much better, but I poured her a glass of wine and found a tissue box (in one of those little crocheted tissue-box-holder thingies).

“Have you talked to him?” I ask.

“Oh, of course.” She sniffles. “He says he loves me but he can’t help the way he is.” Her chest hitches as she stifles the tears.

“Have you told your family?”

She nods. “They all suspected. Just like you.”

I bite my knuckle. I wonder if her sister or mother or whomever had ever taken her aside and asked about Teddy Bear. I know I would have, had she been in my family. “I wish I’d said something, Lu. I just figured it wasn’t my place.”

She blows her nose, then drains her wine. “I probably would have taken your head off,” she admits. She stares sightlessly in front of her. “I can’t believe I was so dumb.” Her voice cracks.

“Oh, Lu,” I say, leaning over to pat her hand. “We’re all blind when it comes to the people we love.”

“Really?” she snaps. “Does your doctor have a boyfriend on the side?”

“Not that I know of,” I answer. “But you know how it is. We all shape people in our minds, one way or another.” Lucia nods. “I’m sure I’m shaping Ryan to be…well. Let’s not talk about me. This is your special night.”

She snorts, smiling reluctantly. “Chastity—” She breaks off, biting her acrylic talon of a fingernail.

“Yeah?”

She looks at her lap. “Teddy Bear was the one who put those pictures on the Web site,” she mumbles.

My mouth falls open.

“And he broke your Aragorn doll, too.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know about it!” Lucia snaps defensively. “He just told me today. He said it was because he knew I hated you—”

“Gosh, thanks.”

“—and he wanted to make you look bad and maybe get fired so I could get your job. Because he thought I deserved it.” She swallows repeatedly, her eyes full once again.

I sigh. “Wow.”

“Are you going to tell?” she asks, chewing her nail yet again.

“Do you want me to?” I say.

“I think he’s probably suffering enough,” she whispers, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Okay, then. I won’t say anything. It’s good to know I don’t have a stalker.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s not your fault,” I say, handing her another tissue.

“You know what, Chastity?” Lucia says, blowing her nose loudly. “I thought you were such a bitch, but you’re really not that bad.”

I can’t help laughing. “Thanks, Lu. Right back at you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I LEAN MY HEAD AGAINST the cool window of Ryan’s Mercedes to ease its throbbing. We’re headed back to his place. It’s raining that soothing June rain that thrums on the car roof and against the windows. I wish we could drive all night.

“I thought that went well,” Ryan says, turning into his reserved parking place.

“Did you?” I ask, getting out of the car before he can open the door for me. “I thought it was torture.”

We’ve just had dinner with my mother and Harry. I’m starting to worry about that.

Or maybe not. Maybe Mom just wants me to run to Dad. Hey, Dad. Mom seems really fond of that Harry…better get off your ass and do something. Maybe I should. I wonder how far Mom is going to take this Mexican standoff. Surely not much longer, because I can’t imagine her letting Harry think there’s actual potential there. Plus—