The Murder Rule(26)
“Wel . . . now you’re going to have to tel me why.”
Hannah rol ed her eyes. She was tired and feeling the effect of the beers. She didn’t drink at al at home, couldn’t, around Laura, and she wasn’t used to it. “I guess she just has a whole theory about men.”
“Your mom has?”
“Yeah.”
Camila leaned forward. “Tel me.”
“Oh, God. Okay. This might sound extreme, I don’t know. She thinks that men are shal ow. Ego driven, mostly. So that when they fail—which is bound to happen at some stage in their lives—they either col apse inward or they lash out and hurt someone. Whereas she thinks women get used to failing from early on in life . . .
basical y because men make it impossible for us to succeed, so we’re better at it.”
Camila put her head to one side, smiling slightly. “Right. Wel , maybe there’s some truth there, but—”
“Oh look, I know it’s over the top. I’m not saying I agree with her.”
Except . . . maybe she did. Dating always seemed like it was more hassle than it was worth. If you couldn’t trust a guy, if you knew they would ultimately let you down, then was any of it worth the effort?
“There are some men who fit within that category, but obviously not al ,” Camila was saying. “Why do you think your mom feels that way?”
“She had some real y bad experiences when she was younger.
And that hurt her, I guess. This is just the way she makes sense of the world now.” Hannah realized that Camila was observing her closely, and she flushed. Shit. She replayed the conversation quickly in her head. No, it was okay. She hadn’t said anything dangerous.
“Sounds like you guys are real y close, huh?”
That didn’t come close to describing the bond they shared.
“Yeah, we’re pretty good friends.”
“So this cancer trial, it sounds real y interesting. Did you say your mom’s in remission? That’s unusual, isn’t it? To be enrol ed in a cancer trial when you’re wel ?”
Camila’s tone and manner were casual, but her eyes were sharp.
Hannah stared back at the other girl. Where had that come from?
Was Camila suspicious? Or was she just natural y spiky?
“Yeah, it’s something she was participating in when we were in Maine, but they want her closer for the next few months, for monitoring.” Hannah looked at her watch. “I’d better think about heading home, Camila. I have so much work to catch up on.”
“Sure.” Camila smiled. “It was great to get to know you a little. I’l walk out with you.”
Hannah walked home. She was mad with herself. She had been stupid. Camila was smart and she asked tricky questions because that was the kind of person she was. Smart, questioning, and natural y suspicious. From now on Hannah would have to be much more careful. She would keep her distance from the others. A good working relationship was essential. Anything more than that could be dangerous.
LAURA
DIARY ENTRY #4
Sunday, August 14, 1994, 10:00 a.m.
It’s been two weeks since Tom and I first slept together, and since then we haven’t spent a night apart. Despite the fact that he has that big house and about five bedrooms to choose from, we mostly stay in my little single bed. I don’t like being at the house with Mike, so I avoid it as much as possible. He won’t leave us alone, won’t give us any space; he’s always there, with his fake bright smile and his barbed comments. He wants to go home to Virginia, but Tom is dragging things out, staying until the last possible minute, and the longer it goes on, the meaner Mike becomes. He just about keeps a lid on things when Tom is in the room, but if Tom leaves me for a minute, even to go to the bathroom, Mike steps things up. The other night he got aggressive, stood too close to me, breathed in my face until I stepped back. I tried to laugh it off and Tom came back before anything else could happen, but I swear I felt like Mike would have hit me, if we’d been alone. There’s something real y off about that guy. He scares me. We’re staying in the house tonight, though, and I think for once Mike wil be happy. He’s got nothing to be angry about anymore. They’re leaving for Virginia tomorrow.
It’s not like Tom and I have a future. I’m not stupid. But this is so much harder than I was expecting.
Sunday, August 14, 1994, 9:00 p.m.
I’m back. At the hotel I mean. It’s stil Sunday but I’m back and so much has happened that I have to write about it right now. I biked up to the house right after work and let myself in. I had to take my bike because I was going to need it—Tom was going to leave tomorrow on the boat, and we were planning to say goodbye at the house. The front door is never locked and I just didn’t think about it. I opened the door and cal ed out a hel o and no one answered me. They were too busy fighting to hear me.
If I close my eyes I’m back there, standing in the main hal way, kind of frozen in place. I don’t know whether I should let them know I’m there, or just sneak out, or what. I can hear Mike—loud and angry—and Tom, he’s quieter, but I can stil hear every word he says. They’re fighting about the fact that Tom doesn’t want to go back to Virginia. He’s going to stay for another two weeks. Mike is raging because it’s move-in day at UVA in just over a week, which gives them just enough time to sail back. When I realize that Tom wants to stay I nearly explode in excitement, but then Mike keeps arguing and arguing and I think that Tom wil just give in. But he doesn’t! He’s cool as anything.