recognized her.”
Confused, I raise a brow. “You saw her?”
“Yesterday morning,” she tells me quietly, her eyes focusing somewhere behind the bar. “I was there briefly.”
“At the funeral home?”
She is rolling her eyes in my direction, and I can tell that she knows I don’t believe her. She tosses back the rest of her wine and turns back to face me, her lips a tight, straight line. “Look,” she begins brusquely. “We can’t talk here. Can we go up to your room?”
“Sure.” I slide from the bar stool and lead the way to the elevators, wishing with every step that I could shake the fog that surrounds me.
Chapter 9
“You’re right,” I tell her, finding a lame smile. We are in my hotel room. While Grace has settled down in the only comfortable lounging chair, I’ve dropped down without ceremony onto the bed. “Sometimes the past gets jumbled in my mind. I forget that you two didn’t really know each other.” I can feel the crease growing between my brows.
“It’s funny. You two are so interconnected in my past,” I muse, lifting a finger to smooth the crease. “Sometimes I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”
Grace is watching me, her face softening.
“I mean, clearly what was real for me wasn’t necessarily real for you. We both remember it so differently.”
She grins a little, eyes dancing. “You mean like how you keep insisting that I broke your heart when you know it was really you who broke mine?” Her smile is crooked, and I am suddenly reminded of who she is, what she has been to me, and the impossibility that we are here together. After all these years.
I return her smile, although her statement is less than amusing and only adds to my sadness. “SomeŹthing like that,” I tell her. “For so long now, I’ve thought that you and Connie had this long, pasŹsionate affair.”
“She didn’t tell you the truth?” Grace’s frown reappeared.
“I don’t think I ever let her.” I could still remember the phone conversation. When Connie had blurted out the words I slept with Grace, the teleŹphone had literally slipped from my hands and fallen to the floor. My lungs had filled with a sudden, leaden weight as glittering spots erupted behind my eyes.
“I don’t want to hear another word,” I had said when I was able. “I can’t fucking believe you’re telling me this, Connie,” I’d spat.
“I thought you should know.”
“I don’t want to know anything about you and Grace fucking,” I screamed. “How could you do this to me? Why are you telling me this?” I was blind with seething. “To gloat? Is that it?”
“Of course not, Liz. I ”
“No more,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
Before she could utter another word, I slammed the receiver onto its cradle and sank to the floor, fighting the nausea that overtook me.
It was several weeks before Connie and I spoke again. Our relationship became strained and distant from that moment on. And she never mentioned Grace’s name again.
I recount the story briefly to Grace now, leaving out the part about how much it had devastated me.
She is leaning forward, eyes narrowing as her elbows come to rest above the knees of her jeans. “You have to let go of all of that, Liz. You can’t keep feeling guilty for things that happened over ten years ago.”
“I know that,” I tell her. “I just need to sort it out.”
She shakes her head. “You think too much.”
I’m not sure if she is kidding or not. “I know that, too.” My smile is satiric, until an image of Connie’s face, amid the soft pink pillows of the casket she now lies in, comes quickly to mind. Tears threaten to spring. “I just wish I’d known. I’ve blamed her all this time.” I wince, mentally kicking myself.
Grace moves forward, moving from chair to bed in a single movement. “Hey.” Her voice holds that quiet sweetness that jars my memories. She lays a casual hand on my outstretched leg.
Confused, I raise a brow. “You saw her?”
“Yesterday morning,” she tells me quietly, her eyes focusing somewhere behind the bar. “I was there briefly.”
“At the funeral home?”
She is rolling her eyes in my direction, and I can tell that she knows I don’t believe her. She tosses back the rest of her wine and turns back to face me, her lips a tight, straight line. “Look,” she begins brusquely. “We can’t talk here. Can we go up to your room?”
“Sure.” I slide from the bar stool and lead the way to the elevators, wishing with every step that I could shake the fog that surrounds me.
Chapter 9
“You’re right,” I tell her, finding a lame smile. We are in my hotel room. While Grace has settled down in the only comfortable lounging chair, I’ve dropped down without ceremony onto the bed. “Sometimes the past gets jumbled in my mind. I forget that you two didn’t really know each other.” I can feel the crease growing between my brows.
“It’s funny. You two are so interconnected in my past,” I muse, lifting a finger to smooth the crease. “Sometimes I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”
Grace is watching me, her face softening.
“I mean, clearly what was real for me wasn’t necessarily real for you. We both remember it so differently.”
She grins a little, eyes dancing. “You mean like how you keep insisting that I broke your heart when you know it was really you who broke mine?” Her smile is crooked, and I am suddenly reminded of who she is, what she has been to me, and the impossibility that we are here together. After all these years.
I return her smile, although her statement is less than amusing and only adds to my sadness. “SomeŹthing like that,” I tell her. “For so long now, I’ve thought that you and Connie had this long, pasŹsionate affair.”
“She didn’t tell you the truth?” Grace’s frown reappeared.
“I don’t think I ever let her.” I could still remember the phone conversation. When Connie had blurted out the words I slept with Grace, the teleŹphone had literally slipped from my hands and fallen to the floor. My lungs had filled with a sudden, leaden weight as glittering spots erupted behind my eyes.
“I don’t want to hear another word,” I had said when I was able. “I can’t fucking believe you’re telling me this, Connie,” I’d spat.
“I thought you should know.”
“I don’t want to know anything about you and Grace fucking,” I screamed. “How could you do this to me? Why are you telling me this?” I was blind with seething. “To gloat? Is that it?”
“Of course not, Liz. I ”
“No more,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
Before she could utter another word, I slammed the receiver onto its cradle and sank to the floor, fighting the nausea that overtook me.
It was several weeks before Connie and I spoke again. Our relationship became strained and distant from that moment on. And she never mentioned Grace’s name again.
I recount the story briefly to Grace now, leaving out the part about how much it had devastated me.
She is leaning forward, eyes narrowing as her elbows come to rest above the knees of her jeans. “You have to let go of all of that, Liz. You can’t keep feeling guilty for things that happened over ten years ago.”
“I know that,” I tell her. “I just need to sort it out.”
She shakes her head. “You think too much.”
I’m not sure if she is kidding or not. “I know that, too.” My smile is satiric, until an image of Connie’s face, amid the soft pink pillows of the casket she now lies in, comes quickly to mind. Tears threaten to spring. “I just wish I’d known. I’ve blamed her all this time.” I wince, mentally kicking myself.
Grace moves forward, moving from chair to bed in a single movement. “Hey.” Her voice holds that quiet sweetness that jars my memories. She lays a casual hand on my outstretched leg.
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