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She knew now that what she'd done was all a big mistake - a stupid, stupid mistake. She should have enjoyed him while she could and never let him know she was different. What if he did something foolish? What if something terrible happened because of her?
And worse, what had she done when she left his house?
"What's wrong?" Esmé said, coming home to find Vivian in exactly the same place she had been when Esmé had left. "That boy dump you?"
Vivian turned away. She couldn't deny it, but she didn't want to talk about it, either, because then she'd have to go through the effort of inventing a reason why. The truth, of course, was unrepeatable.
"The nerve of him," Esmé proclaimed, but she sounded relieved. "What an idiot! Couldn't he see how lucky he was? Men! They're jerks. No matter what the species. There weren't any phone calls for me?" she added anxiously.
Vivian shook her head.
"Oh, baby, I know you feel rotten," Esmé said. "But he's not worth the pain. It couldn't have lasted, you know that. You can do better. Much better. You could have Gabriel - someone you can be yourself with. You've had your taste of rebellion, now it's time to get real."
Vivian didn't have the energy to argue. She'd thought she could be herself with Aiden, and now he was afraid of her.
"I'll make some dinner," Esmé said. "I bet you haven't been eating. How about a beer?" She left for the kitchen.
Esmé never offered her beer. It was a bribe.
Beer made Vivian think of Tooley's. The death behind that bar had been in the news all weekend. Aiden must think it was Vivian who was responsible.
What if he told someone about her? She needed to talk to him and convince him the murder was nothing to do with her. She laughed bitterly. And maybe she could convince herself as well. But she kept on putting off the phone call; she couldn't bear the thought of what he might say.
In the middle of dinner the doorbell rang. Vivian inhaled sharply and hope fluttered in her chest, but before she found the sense to rise, Esmé bounded to her feet and went to answer the door. Vivian sat, her hands clenched around her knife and fork, unable to eat. When Esmé came back with Tomas, the newcomer from the Ordeal, Vivian felt as if she'd been kicked in the gut.
"I'm going out, baby," Esmé said. "You gonna be all right?"
"Sure," Vivian replied wanly.
After Esmé left she went to bed early. Sleep was her only escape.
By the next night she could stand it no longer; she waited until Esmé had left for Tooley's, then dialed Aiden's number. She hoped she could catch him before he went to work.
He answered.
"Aiden?"
He hung up.
She waited, a cold lump in her stomach. Maybe he'd regret hanging up on her and call her back. The phone didn't ring. Perhaps he was waiting for her to phone him so it wouldn't look as if he was too eager to give in. Perhaps he needed her to insist. She called again.
He answered.
"Aiden, please ..."
He hung up again.
She called back, stabbing the buttons, barely seeing the numbers through the prickling blur in front of her eyes. A recorded message came on. She slammed the phone down and snatched up a dish and flung it against the wall. Paper clips went flying. The dish crashed to the floor and skidded down the hall. Hot tears stung her raw cheeks.
A slip of familiar paper fluttered down to the surface of the table - Bingo's number. Vivian must have left it by the phone when she'd called to thank Bingo for the night of movies and popcorn.
Of course, Vivian thought, and she wiped an arm across her eyes. I'll call Bingo. She's good friends with Aiden. I'll tell her we've had a fight and he won't talk to me. She'll persuade him for me. Vivian reached for the phone again.
"Bingo. Hi! It's Vivian."
"You've got your nerve talking to me." Bingo's voice was taut and angry. Her words left Vivian stunned.
"What?"
