“So why did you agree to invite me on the trip? As I recall, you were the one who pushed me that night, hand-holding and all.”
Tara’s answer didn’t roll off her tongue quite as easily this time. “I didn’t know what was going on—I mean, I knew she’d been pining for Grant for a decade, but when he started dating you, she seemed genuinely happy for him, and things with Stephen were going really well. It wasn’t until after we invited you on the trip that she told me how she really felt.” Tara paused to take a sip of beer and Rainy braced herself for what she was going to say next.
“She made it seem like a game. We were going to get the scoop on you and Grant. See how serious you really were.”
“That’s really fucked up.”
“Yeah.”
She didn’t say sorry. That was telling.
“Were the others in on this, too… Viola?”
Tara’s headshake was emphatic this time. “No, they—we never spoke about that stuff around them. I guess I always felt privileged that she chose me, you know?”
This version of Tara was a lot different than the one Rainy had come to know. She took in the ruffled, worried, strangely vulnerable woman. She felt nothing but anger.
“You could have been a decent person. Instead, you connived to gather information from me for Braithe, who is carrying a ten-year torch for my partner and is now planning on leaving her husband because of what a psychic said—and you want me to help you convince her to come back? Why would she listen to me, anyway?”
“Okay, when you say it like that it sounds ridiculous.”
“Oh my God, Tara, because it is.” Rainy downed the rest of her warm drink and slammed it on the table next to the phone.
“Braithe is an adult. The decisions she makes for her marriage and life have nothing to do with us. Even if she is in love with Grant, he’s mine.” Rainy was over it. She wanted to—needed to—get off this call.
“So you’re just not going to do anything?” Tara’s mouth gaped open unattractively. “What if she, like…commits suicide?”
“What are you asking me to do? She’s literally plotting to steal my boyfriend.”
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? Text her, see if she will meet up with you. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. Look, I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but she actually does like you. Respects you. I think on some level she realizes she can’t compete with you for Grant. I mean, I think she knows she messed up big-time.”
“Does she know you’re telling me all of this?”
Tara shook her head. “I made the decision, thinking it would help if you spoke to her.”
“I am the last one Braithe wants to hear from. You have this all wrong.” Rainy released the knot of hair wrapped on the crest of her skull and her hair tumbled down.
Sturdy, steady Braithe with her marbled brown eyes and sophisticated maturity didn’t seem the type to connive and scheme, but Rainy supposed that was why she’d been able to get away with it.
“I don’t want anything to do with her, or you, or any of you, ever again,” Rainy said.
“I should have known,” Tara said, her face red. “People like you tout feminism and claim you give a shit about other women, but in the end you only care about yourself. You’re willing to leave her behind because she didn’t fit your narrative.”
“That’s such a load of bullshit, Tara. No one helps the person who stabs them in the back!” But Rainy was staring at an empty screen: Tara had hung up on her. A vicious anger was ripping through her, violent and affirming. She paced the small room until she wanted to scream. You don’t have to stay here, she thought. This is Vegas. You can do pretty much anything you want. Grabbing her bag, she headed out of the room.
21
Now
“Why are you being like this?” The hurt in Grant’s eyes was enough to rip the last of her reserve from where she loosely held it. Rainy’s hands made knots in her lap. She stared at the computer’s keyboard instead of the grainy image of him on the screen. They’d barely managed a connection, and now they were fighting.
“Why didn’t you tell me that the two of you were a thing?”
“It was a long time ago, Rainy. She’s married to my best friend. And you and I don’t talk about the past—we just don’t.”
That was fair. She never asked questions because she didn’t want the same asked of her. But something like this seemed like more of a problem: I used to sleep with the woman we see every week.