“You’re terrible at it.”
“I will do better.”
“Not good enough. Can you really blame her for moving on after you—”
“His brother didn’t die in a car wreck,” Cecelia says softly, and Christy flinches with the revelation, “he died from several gunshot wounds at a gunfight at my father’s mansion, saving us both.” Mouth agape, plastic keys in her hand, I guide Christy back to her seat on shaky legs.
She gapes at Cecelia before looking up at me, and I attempt to crack a joke to take some of the tension away. “And we know who shot JFK.”
“Holy fucking shit,” Christy utters for the umpteenth time as Tobias chases her two-year-old around his playground while Josh mans the grill.
Midway through our confession, she switched her tea for wine. Not long after she finished her first bottle, Josh came home and decided to barbecue in the dead of winter, which led us to huddling on her back porch as the two men juggled both the grill and one of her toddlers.
“It’s insane, I know. And I really don’t think you should tell Josh. At least not all of it.”
She looks at me with the stress of a thousand spilled secrets etched into her face and practically screams. “How can I not!?”
“I mean, you can, but I doubt he’ll let us back in the house if you do. I don’t want that.”
“You wouldn’t put me in danger,” she says confidently. “Never.”
“We have the Secret Service protecting us now, and you’re right, I wouldn’t.”
“This is absolutely crazy. I don’t know whether to be pissed, or amazed, or excited or—good God, that man has me wanting to make another baby.”
Tobias stands with the toddler in his arms as the baby points to the slide. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Josh,” she glances at her husband, who’s wearing a “eat my meat” apron over his hoodie, “but door number two sure is appealing.”
“Door number two is a reformed egomaniac and gigantic ass, who I’ll have to fight every day for the rest of my life.”
“Hot,” she says, eyeing Tobias and completely unfazed by my words as she looks back to me. “You know, even if I told Josh, he wouldn’t believe it.”
“Do you believe it?”
An emphatic nod. “Every word. There were too many holes in your other stories and too many inconsistencies. Now it all makes sense. I thought you were losing your mind for a while, then you seemed to get straight with Collin, so I figured it was just a spell.”
I haven’t heard Collin’s name since we parted, easing some of the guilt associated with it. A sudden sting of remorse eats at me now at the mere mention of him. In my grief-stricken state, and my will to start a new life, I’d shifted from grieving one to another, but the full weight of my destructive path rears its ugly head now.
Christy reads my expression. “He’s okay, you know. He’s met someone.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw them together at a swanky restaurant in town on our last date night.”
“Really? Did he look happy?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“Because ever since you moved to Nowhere, Virginia, you haven’t been texting much either.”
“I got in my head again, and I was tired of burdening you with it.”
“That’s not what this is about,” she snaps. “There’s no limit in being a friend, in being there for a friend. There’s no limit.”