“She lost a lot for you,” I say. “She needed support.” I know I shouldn’t speak for Carly, but I feel like if I try maybe Rosemary could change her mind.
“You can’t know what she needs. You’re a baby.” Rosemary gets close and wrinkles her mouth to mock me. It’s so ugly. Her breath is hot on my face. “Go home and cry to mommy.”
“You don’t know anything about me!” I shout, but my words sound so useless.
“I know enough about you,” she says, “I’ll go into Decadence. I’ll tell everyone Carly is fucking a child.”
I can feel my world breaking apart like an old barn in a hurricane. “I’m not sleeping with Carly.”
“I’m not stupid,” Rosemary says.
I almost blurt out that I have a boyfriend but stop myself just in time. Carly isn’t that much older than me and we’re friends and that’s truth. If any of this leads back to Adam, it means real trouble for sure.
“I only acted like that so Carly could save face,” I tell her.
“I saw you two holding hands in The Commons last week. You didn’t even see me. In the bathroom at The Haunt. That wasn’t for my benefit.”
“We’re friends.” My throat tightens.
“Yeah. I bet you are.”
“It’s not like that!” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying. “Carly is the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Carly is twenty years old. Why would she want to be your friend? You’re a child. You don’t know anything.”
I feel this weird twist in my mind. Like everything is slow motion and I can see it clearly—how fragile and sheltered and stupid Rosemary is. I wonder what it would feel like to crack her in half like a dried-out twig. “If she doesn’t love you,” I say, “it’s because of you, not me.”
Rosemary’s face flushes. She’s shaking again. “Get the fuck out of my house!”
When my feet hit the front step, she says, “I made a copy of your license. I can call the police any time. What do you think other people will think of your friendship?”
She slams the door behind me so hard it sounds like it probably cracked in two.
I don’t look back to see if it did. I just leave.
— Chapter 30 —
I can’t even remember driving back to Adam’s place. I’m just here, in my car outside, shaking. When I get into the apartment, I run to the bathroom and heave up everything I ate for breakfast, retching until there’s nothing left. There isn’t time to cry. There just isn’t.
I throw my clothes into the plastic grocery bags Adam keeps in an empty paper towel roll under the kitchen sink and think about ways to fix things. I could bribe Rosemary. I could tell Carly and she could convince Rosemary. But eventually, it would all lead back to Adam. Eventually, someone would find out and he’d get hurt. And if I tried to stay, I’d always be waiting for it. I’d be sitting around waiting for Adam’s life to be completely ruined over something he’d never have done if he’d known. Not in a million years.
I empty my dresser drawers, the ones he cleared out to make room for me, and grab the slippers I bought at House of Shalimar from under the bed. I leave the record player and the records I bought for him by the Christmas tree. I wish I had time to wrap them, wish I was going to be with him on Christmas morning to watch him open them. I sit at the card table in the kitchen and write a note on the back of an envelope. I write that it’s because there’s something wrong with me and I just need to go and it’s killing me and I’ll never stop missing him. I sign it: I love you always, April.
I want his corduroy barn jacket. The black one with the worn cuffs that he lets me wear all the time. It smells like him and wearing it feels like a hug. When I look in the coat closet, I see a big red bow. It’s tied to the neck of a guitar.
I take the guitar. I can’t stand to leave it. I can’t stand to leave. I go back to the kitchen and place the black velvet box with my mother’s ring on top of the note. At the bottom of the page, I write, I hope this is enough.
— Chapter 31 —
I try to sneak in the cafe through the alley. Yesterday was payday and I forgot to grab my envelope. I won’t be able to cash the check. I always signed them over to Adam and had him do it for me. But I can at least get my share of the tip jar for the week. It’s something.
Bodie is in the alley, wearing a Santa hat, smoking.
“Pilgrim,” he says in his slow, dazed voice, “you’re like a work addict or something. I thought it was your day off.” He closes his eyes and smiles like he has a pretty picture in his head.