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Marilyn inhaled a deep breath in an effort to figure out what to say next. She and the other Monarchs Wives Club members had discussed this. “You sound happy about that, Em. Almost satisfied.”
Emma shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve warned you since you and Rick started getting serious that his career would destroy yours. You wouldn’t listen to me.”
Marilyn reined in her temper. “I’m trying to save my marriage and my career. I’d appreciate a little support from my best friend.”
Emma looked at her in concern. “Are you sure you have a marriage to save?”
The other Monarchs wives had told her she’d have to confront Emma. Marilyn had dreaded this moment. She feared the outcome. She stepped off the pedestrian path and turned to face the woman she’d called “friend” for fifteen years—through college, medical school, and residencies; boyfriends, breakups, makeups, and marriage. “Em, are you jealous of my marriage to Rick?”
Emma’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “Jealous? Why would I be jealous of you and Rick?” But her friend wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“There’s no reason for you to be.” Marilyn led Emma farther across the park’s lawn. “But you’ve been criticizing our relationship since the day I told you he’d proposed. Why is that?”
“He’s cheated on you.” Emma almost spat the words.
Anger clouded Marilyn’s vision. “For the hundredth time, no, he hasn’t.”
“You’re beautiful, intelligent, and successful. But that doesn’t inoculate you from lying, cheating men.”
Marilyn searched the bitter glow in Emma’s green eyes. She swallowed, but the lump in her throat was stuck. “All of these years, Em, and I never realized how much you hated me.”
“You never appreciated what you had.” Emma shoved her hands onto her hips. “You wanted to get away from your parents. You had wealth and prestige and you wanted to throw it away. I would have loved to have grown up in your family. I never would have left.”
Talking with this Emma was like meeting a stranger. “You encouraged my applying to medical schools on the East Coast. You said you admired my independence.”
“But marriage changed you.” Emma’s tone was a sneer. “You weren’t independent anymore. And you weren’t going to return to California.”
“I made it clear before I left for medical school that I wasn’t returning to San Francisco.”
Emma shrugged. “You could have changed your mind.”
“But I didn’t.” Marilyn stared at Emma’s defiant expression. “Were we ever friends or did you just want to get in good with the Devrys’ daughter?”
Emma nodded once. “We were friends before you became Rick’s wife and didn’t have time for me anymore. Didn’t I warn you he was going to break your heart?”
“You’re the one who broke my heart, Em. You’d have done better to warn me about that.”
A flicker of uncertainty moved across Emma’s round face. She shrugged her shoulders and checked her watch. “I guess this jog is over. I’m going home.”
“Good-bye.” Marilyn inclined her head, too numb to think of anything else to say.
She watched her former best friend forever turn and walk back toward Eastern Parkway.
Emma merged with the crowd at the park’s entrance. With a heavy heart, Marilyn struggled to continue her second lap. This was the hardest summer of her personal life yet. But it wasn’t due to the heat. She was hanging on to her marriage by a thread. Her husband’s integrity was being publicly debated. She’d learned that her father had cheated on her mother, and the woman she’d considered her best friend since college had been pretending for all of these years.
It was telling that, through it all, the one person who’d remained true to her was Warrick.
18
The Waves had figured out their offense. Warrick stood on the sidelines with his team. DeMarcus had called a time-out. The Monarchs had gone into the halftime with a thirteen-point lead and a silenced Marlon Burress. At that point, Warrick had hoped they’d win and return home Sunday as conference champions.
Warrick lifted his gaze to the scoreboard, 108 to 105, Monarchs. One minute and eight seconds remained to the game. Too much time. At least he wasn’t in foul trouble.
DeMarcus shouted to be heard above Lady Gaga’s “Edge of Glory” as it competed with the cheers of the Waves fans. “We can’t make any mistakes. You can’t give them the win.”
“It’s as though they are reading our minds.” Serge smoothed back his dark blond hair, which hung in a damp ponytail behind his head. “They know what we’re going to do before we do it.”
“We need to open the playbook.” Anthony tossed aside his towel.
