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And that was when Norman revealed perhaps his darkest secret: that when he’d been dating Isabel, it was Brie he felt himself falling in love with. There was a period before I met Brie when she and her sister were living together, sharing an apartment in Bridgeport, and Norman always wanted to pick Isabel up from there, not meet her someplace, because it might allow him, even for a few minutes, to be in Brie’s company.
Isabel, Norman told Brie, was perceptive enough to figure out what he was up to back then, which explained why at every opportunity she told him stories designed to trash Brie’s reputation. That Brie was a slut, that she thought she was better than everybody else, that she only cared about how people looked and not what was inside.
Brie had never heard this before. Maybe it was what tipped her over the edge, learning the terrible things her sister had once said about her. That, and the fact that by this time she knew I’d had—and ended—my brief affair with Natalie.
The way Brie told it, that was when she gave him a hug. It was only meant to be consoling, but turned into something else.
“I can’t explain it,” she told me, weeping. “It just happened.”
She begged me not to do anything to Norman. I don’t think I’d ever given Brie reason to believe I was the type of guy who’d jump in the car, drive over to his place, haul him out on the front lawn, and beat the shit out of him. But then again, we’d never been in a place like this before. And I won’t lie. I did think about it.
But what would beating Norman to a pulp have proved? There was so much guilt to go around.
Still, I had a hard time dealing with it. We didn’t speak for several days, aside from the most basic communications. I slept on the couch, ate meals alone. It was Greg who finally talked some sense into me.
“Stop being an asshole,” he said. “You’re the luckiest guy in the world. Stop this shit. Patch this up. Brie is beautiful and kind and if we pushed the people out of our lives who had made one mistake we’d all be totally fucking alone. If she’s willing to take you back after what you’ve done, you need to let this go.”
Interesting advice, coming from Greg. Brie was not his biggest fan, and he knew it. A few years earlier, when Brie and I were engaged, Greg made a pass at her. She made it very clear to him that she was not interested, and when she told me about it later, I made a mistake that I like to think I wouldn’t make today, if such a thing were to happen with Jayne.
I made excuses for Greg. You know what he’s like, I said. He didn’t mean anything by it. He probably had too much to drink. Maybe he thought you were someone else. It was a party and it was crowded. He’s a friendly guy. Don’t worry about it.
I dismissed Brie’s concerns. I didn’t take them seriously. I failed to appreciate how uncomfortable my friend had made her feel. Maybe now, in the wake of Me Too and a little more self-reflection on the part of the male gender, I would see things differently.
Anyway, back then, I took his advice. I told Brie I wanted to start over. I would move past what she had done if she would move past what I had done. We went to counseling. I pledged to create a more stable life for us, not moving from fixer-upper to fixer-upper.
The odds might have been against us, but we beat them.
Things played out differently at Norman and Isabel’s house. Norman did not confess. Isabel, so far as we knew, remained unaware, and Brie wanted it to remain that way. She made me promise I would never, ever tell Isabel what she had done.
“Even if I were dead,” she’d said at the time.
I promised.
She did not make me promise not to tell the police, however, should the circumstances warrant it. When Detective Hardy pressed me for every possible detail about Brie’s personal life, I disclosed the information about Norman, without suggesting in any way that he might be responsible. And Hardy concluded he wasn’t, given that he was in Boston with Isabel Saturday night and into Sunday, during and after my FaceTime chat with Brie.
Norman had to know that I knew, and anytime we were in the same room, such as a family gathering, I’m sure he saw me as a ticking time bomb. That I would punch his lights out, or, even more frightening, rat him out to Isabel. What she might do to him would be far worse than any punishment I might mete out.
Anyway, I did neither.
Not even when things were at their worst. When Isabel was hounding Detective Hardy to charge me with something, anything, I resisted the urge to retaliate, to tell her that the sister for whom she was seeking justice had betrayed her in the worst way. It would have been so easy to bring her entire world crashing down with the revelation, but I couldn’t do it.
I wouldn’t do it to Brie. I’d made a promise and I intended to keep it. I would not destroy her extended family to score points, even though I was tempted.
I wasn’t the only one to keep the secret. Elizabeth knew, too. I wondered if Norman was aware. I wondered if Elizabeth had quietly taken him aside in recent days and told him he owed me a debt of gratitude. I wondered if that was why Norman had tried to call me the night before.
And going back six years, I wondered whether this had been weighing heavily on Brie that last day I spent with her. The Friday, before driving up to the cabin that evening. Something was troubling her. She was pensive, thinking about something. Didn’t say a word at breakfast. Our mistakes were behind us, but I supposed it was possible she hadn’t stopped turning them over in her mind.
“I can tell you’re thinking about something,” I said. “Talk to me.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“If you don’t want me to go away, I’ll cancel. Greg and I can do this another time. He’s going to be hobbling around all over the place, anyway. Might do to wait another week or two when his leg’s totally healed.”
“No, I want you to go,” she said. “You have to go.”
“You trying to get rid of me?” I said. I meant it as a joke, but she took the comment seriously, as though I harbored some suspicions about what plans she might have.
“God, tell me we’re not slipping back,” she said.
