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Even Romeo and Oliver only heard about what had happened through the media and Mom.
Farrow whispered, not releasing my hand, “Was the driver drunk?”
“No.” I rolled my head over the headrest, salt seeping into my body through my drenched clothes. “That’s the worst part. He wasn’t drunk at all. He wasn’t a villain. Just an overworked father of five, who reached for his coffee in his cupholder and lost control of his vehicle.”
Farrow’s thumb stroked the back of my hand, moving in tiny circles.
I curled my free hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm. “Hedrove over the limit to finish his last job early. His kid had a recital. He pleaded guilty immediately. Then proceeded to write us an apology letter.”
It occurred to me that Farrow had lost her father in an accident, too. I glanced at her, wondering if hearing about Dad’s death triggered anything for her.
I found my answer immediately.
She had her eyes fixed on me, her full attention focused on nothing but me.
I rolled my lower lip into my mouth. “The case never made it to court—he took a plea deal. Granted his wife a speedy divorce, so she could move on and find someone else to take care of the family. My mother still pays for her kids’ tuition.”
Fae buried her face in her hands. “Jesus.”
I wondered if this changed her perception of Constance.
For all of her negative traits—and there were many—Mom wasn’t a terrible human. Just deeply misguided, chained by grief, and struggling to exist without total control over every aspect of her life—and mine.
“I was left with all this rage and no one to direct it at.” I stared down at my lap. “And so, I turned my rage into guilt.”
I’d never said these words to anyone before. Or aloud, for that matter. The truth of them pierced my chest like a bullet.
I’d gone so long without feeling anything at all, that ever since Farrow entered my life, I’d been on sensory overload. She was living proof that angels existed in hell.
“I am so sorry.” Her voice drifted into my ears, soothing me where I burned. “I’m sorry the world was so cruel to you. And I’m sorry you had to carry this experience alone.” Her fingers interlaced with mine. “Most of all, I’m sorry no one taught you that it’s okay not to be okay. Healing is like treading water. You drown as much as you float. You need a shoulder to cry on, Zach. Not a bride.”
“Speaking of my bride…” I unknotted our fingers, still unused to being touched so much. “What happened tonight?—”
“Is none of my business,” Farrow finished for me. “We have a deal. I know you’re engaged. I should’ve?—”
“Let me finish.” I shifted, facing her. “I had this entire thing planned for you tonight. Dinner. Candlelight. Flowers… All those pesky things in movies.”
“You watch romance movies?” She looked unconvinced.
“Involuntarily. And only to come up with ideas to make you feel…unused.” I grimaced. “Just because ours is a clinical arrangement does not mean you should feel taken advantage of.” I paused. “Oliver gave me a list.”
She pressed her lipstogether, but a giggle slipped past. “What did you watch?”
“God-awful things.” I wrung my sleeve dry, making her laugh even harder. “When Harry Met Sally, which sucked.”
“It’s a classic,” Farrow protested. “What’s wrong with it?”
“In my opinion, two people with such unfortunate hair should not procreate. Only bad can come out of that.”
She tossed her head back, bellowing. “What else did you hate?”
“Titanic. There was room on that door, Farrow. In fact, there was room for a party of three if they squeezed in tight.”
The car shook with her laughter.
I didn’t understand why. I didn’t find facts funny.
She managed to wave between cackles. “Continue.”
