She’s quiet for a moment, then snorts. “Did he want to give you that ride in the bed of the pickup? Or did he have a bench seat?”
“Aliteralride, Cat.”
“Were you stranded somewhere? Were you safe? Are you walking around in the city alone at night?Why did you need a literal ride?”
“Stop, Cat. I was fine. I was just going to say that if I took the literal ride, I would have had to watch everything I said and lie my butt off if he asked personal questions. You know I hate lying. So I don’t talk to people.”
A car honks, and Cat cusses softly. “The men in Chicago can’t drive. Or kiss. I really need to move.”
A small school of fish swims by, tickling my toes before they disappear under the dock.
“Are you eating enough?” she asks.
“Yes,” I lie. “You asked me that last time.”
“I’ll ask you every time I talk to you.” She pauses. “Do you have a place to dance or at least access to a barre for barre work?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“Aunt Birdie won a prize at the county fair for her apple pie.”
“With the crumble?”
“Of course. Is there any other way?”
“That was my favorite.”
“Thatisyour favorite. Stop making everything past tense, like you’re dead. This is only temporary.”
I don’t answer. It’s too difficult trying to imagine how this will end, short of Trey magically disappearing from existence in a puff of black dust.
“Cat?”
“Yeah. Still here.”
“Why did I do it? How could I have fallen in love with someone so cruel? Was he like that when I met him?” It’s not something I hadn’t thought about before. It’s a topic that has been sanded over and over again so fine it should be smooth and bright as a river pebble. But I need to say it aloud. Again. I needto hear it from someone else’s lips that it’s not my fault. Because I still am not sure.
“Trey was like that when you met him, but he hid it. He wasalwayslike that. Born that way. He’ll die that way.” She blows out a puff of air. “Youdidn’t know, so stop blaming yourself. Most of America doesn’t know who he is, except the other women he messed up before you. Youcannotblame yourself for getting sucked in by Trey. The guy is smooth. Barry White smooth jazz smooth.”
I laugh. “You’re so old, Cat.”
“And George Cloony in-his-heyday handsome.”
“George Cloony’s still handsome.”
“Honey, you were so, so sad after Cain died. You still weren’t thinking straight by the time Trey sauntered into your life.” She pauses, blows out a breath. “I feel guilty. You never would have met Trey if I hadn’t gotten COVID. I was supposed to protect you. Keep you safe. Steer you clear of psycholunatic boyfriends. I should have been there before Trey wore your skinny, lonely ass down.”
I tuck the phone between my chin and shoulder, push myself up, and stand. “It’s not your fault. And thanks, Cat.”
“For telling you you’re skinny?”
“Yeah.”
“You should try a curve or two, love.”
I hear the hiss of her window rolling down. She’s pulling into the parking garage across from her yoga studio, poking at a button for a ticket. “I’m not being followed today, but there was someone parked outside the apartment all evening and night. I should have gone out and offered him a sandwich. It’s stupid.”
“I’m sorry.”
