Page 8 of The Wedding Party

“Oh God,” I say, sipping my drink. “Any sentence with a ‘but’ from you is not good.”

“That’s a character attack. How dare you?” she chides in mock offense, before she adds, “I’m going to a party in Estes Park next weekend—it’s this combo bachelor/bachelorette party. Weird, I know, but whatever. I’ve become fast friends with the bride—she’s helped me adjust to working in the ER. I have to go, but I’m socially awkward these days. The post-divorce ‘find myself’ progress is going rather slowly. I could sure use some support. Please come with me.”

“You are not even a little socially awkward. No party for me.”

She doesn’t give up. “It’s at that hotel where Stephen King wrote The Shining. It’s supposed to be haunted, which is kind of cool.”

“The last thing I need is some killer I put away coming back to haunt me at some spooky hotel. No, thank you.”

“Screw the ghosts. We’ll eat, drink, and shop. It’ll be fun.”

“The bride doesn’t know me.”

“The bride is supersweet and easygoing. She told me to bring a friend if it made me more comfortable. If you coming along with me convinces me to go, she’ll be thrilled.”

“No party for me,” I say, and this time I firmly change the subject. “Tell me what’s going on with your family. How are they?”

She sighs dramatically. “I’m going to ask again,” she promises, but she lets the subject die, at least for now. She moves on to tell me a bit about her family’s retail empire, which she has boycotted because of her parents’ controlling nature. I sympathize. I didn’t exactly boycott the family business like she did, but I’ve boycotted the control my father has over my life.

When our girls’ night wraps up, I head to the bathroom, and I’m still in the hallway by the bar when my phone buzzes with a text message from Aiden, my on-again, off-again relationship and boss: How are drinks with your friend?

I stop walking and reply: I was socially acceptable. I didn’t talk about murder for once. Well, not in my customary graphic detail.

Miracles do happen, he responds. How about I come over and bring tacos?

On most nights I’d likely say yes, but something about the whole forbidden nature of our relationship feels kind of dirty right now. I reply: Rain check.

I don’t offer an explanation. And he won’t push me for one, but I have a sense lately that might change. I’m not sure what to do with that, and I don’t want to think about it right now.

I head on into the bathroom, and while I’m at the sink washing my hands, a midthirties woman, brunette like myself, primps her hair and glances in the mirror at me. “You’re Andrea Castle, right?”

Hello, reporter, I think. “And I’m obviously going to need another drink, because what comes next is either Spider Man or Eddie Castle,” I say dryly.

“Spider Man,” she states. “Can I just steal a moment?”

“Do you know who my father is?”

“I do. Why?”

“Ask him about Spider Man. I’m certain he’ll have more to offer than me.”

“What can he tell me?”

“Probably how pretty or obnoxious you are, depending on his mood.”

With that, I leave the bathroom.

My father hates reporters. No matter what he does, they never hate him. And she’s pretty. He’ll thank me for the referral. The two of them will be a match made in heaven.

Once I’m at the table where Lana waits, I snap up my coat, thankful we’ve already paid the bill. “There’s a reporter here,” I say. “It’s time to leave.”

Her eyes go wide. “Oh no. Okay.” She grabs her coat and purse and we head for the door, exiting the bar. Once we’re on the sidewalk, we both huddle into our coats with the damp cold of an October night. Colorado is an odd fellow in late October, often warm in the day and quite chilly at night.

We cut right toward the parking lot and Lana asks, “You sure you don’t want to escape to Estes Park with me?” We pause at the hoods of our side-by-side vehicles.

After weeks of being stalked by the media, I’ve had enough. I turn to face her. “You know what?” I say. “I will go. I’m off for two more weeks. Maybe if they can’t find me, the press will move the heck on, and I can go back to work in peace.”

She grins. “Perfect. It’ll be fun.”