The Friends We Keep

by Holly Chamberlin

  Sophie’s secret. I hated sitting across from Eva knowing I held a secret that when revealed—if Sophie was to be believed—would cause her a great deal of pain. But I wouldn’t break my word to Sophie; the secret wasn’t mine to tell.

  I did wonder, though, if Eva would care so much that Sophie was involved with her ex; after all, she had that young guy now. But I knew Eva; at least I thought I knew her. Where once she’d been generous she’d grown stingy; where once she’d been reasonable she’d grown impetuous. The chances of her reaction being a mild one were slim.

  Dinner over, we parted outside the restaurant. I hailed her a cab.

  “I can hail my own cabs,” she said. “But thanks.”

  I opened the back passenger door for her. “Yes,” I said, “I know you can open your own doors, too. But, you’re welcome.”

  Eva laughed. And then, just before slipping into the cab, she planted a quick little kiss at the corner of my mouth. But she made the mistake of lingering there a split second too long. I kissed her back. It was a bit awkward, not my best work, and then, with another laugh, she darted into the cab and was gone.

  I hadn’t meant to kiss her. But I wasn’t sorry that I had.

  83

  This writer is tired of the bad rap the act of dodging has acquired. From Dickens’s The Artful Dodger to those who avoided the Vietnam draft (draft dodgers), the act of evading the law or one’s so-called duty has been considered something of dubious moral value. In reality, the ability to successfully evade capture and punishment (just or unjust) is a skill that should be lauded.

  —Evasion as a Positive Life Skill

  EVA

  I wondered why I was even bothering to meet Jake, especially after John’s unexpected kiss, a kiss that had made me want more, a kiss that had rattled a lot more than my body.

  I checked my watch.

  He was late again. I pulled out my cell and called my lazy, soon-to-be-ex-lover. The phone rang once, twice. On the third ring I scanned the area impatiently, half-expecting to see Jake loping his way toward me, an excuse on his lips.

  But the street was empty except for a couple, a man and a woman. Something about them seemed familiar. They were holding hands. Coming closer, nearer to a streetlight. They stopped. The man pulled the woman to him and kissed her. They moved on, under the glow of the lamp.

  Sophie. And Ben.

  “Hey, Eva.”

  I was startled by the voice at my ear.

  “Look, I’m sorry I’m late. I’m on my way—”

  “I can’t meet you tonight,” I said mechanically.

  “No, wait,” Jake went on, “I’m really sorry, I’ll be there in like, ten minutes.”

  I clicked the phone shut.

  I backed into the shadows and watched as Sophie and Ben walked by.

  84

  Dear Answer Lady:

  One of my friends makes a lot less money than I do and it’s really inconvenient. When we go out for dinner we have to eat at chains like Olive Garden or have a drink at a pub instead of cool places where they actually have good-looking bartenders. I like her and all, she’s smart and funny and always remembers my birthday, but it’s really getting old, hanging out in these dumps. I mean, it’s not my fault she’s supporting her two kids since her husband ran out on her—did I tell her to marry the bum in the first place? Anyway, what do I do?

  Dear Self-Centered Swine:

  You don’t deserve a friend like the one you describe. In fact, you don’t deserve any friend at all. What you deserve is a swift kick in the butt and a life spent among other self-centered swine like yourself. Have fun rolling in the mud!

  EVA

  Jake called twice that night. I didn’t take either of his calls. I deleted his voice messages without listening to them.

  I saw, I felt, I knew only betrayal. Somehow, Sophie knew when she met Ben that he had been mine. And yet she pursued him, maybe for that reason alone. And when Ben had learned the truth, he, too, had laughed and enjoyed the game.

  It had been hours since dinner but I thought everything I’d eaten would come roaring up my throat. My head hurt. I tried to swallow two aspirin but gagged on them.

  Hours passed. I remained painfully wide-awake. At one AM I was sure that if I spent one more minute by myself in that near-empty apartment I would shatter.

  Sam. I reached for the phone. And then I dropped my hand to my side. No. Not that kind of help, not now.

  John. His was the kind of support that made sense. Again, I reached for the phone—and again I withdrew my hand.

  I wasn’t used to asking for help. I felt frightened. What if John laughed at my pain or made light of my hurt? Sure, he’d been nice to me lately, but that proved nothing. Besides, I didn’t fully trust myself around John, not after that kiss earlier. I knew that if something happened between us while I was feeling so vulnerable, it would kill anything real that might develop on its own. Maybe I’d grown smarter in the ways of the heart; maybe it was only self-preservation kicking in at a moment of great stress.

  I sat heavily in my one armchair and looked at the opposite wall, blank of anything but paint. No desperate phone calls. No risk-taking. As I’d done since my parents’ deaths, I’d weather this storm alone.

  85

  Consider carefully before you entrust someone with the fact that you’re embezzling from the firm. Can you really trust this person? Didn’t you see her in the supply room, stuffing pens into her purse? Do you really want her threatening to snitch unless you cut her into your scheme? And before agreeing to be the keeper of a secret, consider carefully the source. Weren’t the police called to his house twice in the past month when neighbors reported hearing a woman screaming in distress? What kind of secret is this guy likely to impart? And do you really want to deal with his wrath when you decide his secret must be revealed for the sake of decent society?

  —Don’t Breathe a Word: The Delicate Art of Imparting and Keeping Secrets

  SOPHIE

  “Coming!” I called. The bell continued to ring. I peered through the peephole and quickly opened the door.

  I’d never figured Eva for the sort of person who would just pop in. But there she was, uninvited, looking almost disheveled.

  “Eva,” I said. “What are you doing here?” But I had a sinking feeling that I knew exactly what she was doing at my door.

  “I know about you and Ben. I saw you so don’t deny it.”

  No preliminaries, just the words I’d been dreading: “I know about you and Ben.”

  “I’m not denying it,” I said, barely breathing.

  Eva continued to glare and scowl. Crazily, I thought that her face must hurt from so much effort.

  I stepped back into the apartment. “Come in, please. Let me explain.”

  “I don’t want to hear any excuses,” Eva snapped.

  “I’m not making any excuses,” I said with a pretext of calm. “I’m just trying to say how things came about.” I took another step inside and this time, Eva followed. As I closed and locked the door I wondered if maybe asking her into my apartment had been such a good idea after all. I’d never seen Eva—I’d never seen anyone—so angry.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I asked.

  “This isn’t a social call,” she spat.

  “Eva, look, I swear that when I met Ben I didn’t know he was your ex! Please, you’ve got to believe me!”

  “Well, then,” she said, “how did you find out?”

  I took a deep breath before answering. “Do you remember,” I began, “when we met for lunch that time and Ben cancelled?”

  “Of course I remember,” she said and her tone suggested that I was an idiot for even asking. “And you wouldn’t even tell me his name . . . Don’t tell me you knew about us then and were going to spring him on me!”

  “Of course not!” I cried. “What kind of a person do you think I am?”

  Eva’s eyes bored into me. She looked almost possessed with rage. “I’m not sure
if you want to hear the answer to that question right now.”

  I felt sick to my stomach. I felt weak in the knees. Never in my life, not even during the divorce, had I experienced such a confrontation. “Eva,” I said, my voice shaky, “please, just listen to me. Ben saw us at the table. He knew that the truth would come out the minute he joined us and that I would feel awkward and—”

  “How nice that he cares about your feelings,” Eva spat. “He didn’t seem to care about mine when he walked out!”

  Oh, God, I was making everything worse. “Eva, he didn’t join us because he knew it would be difficult for both of us! Ben’s not a demon, no matter what you say about him.”

  Eva laughed bitterly. “Oh, I suppose he’s told you his version of our relationship, the version in which I star as the coldhearted, unnatural bitch.”

  “No, no, of course not,” I said. It was partly the truth. Ben had never actually used the B word.

  “What did he say?” Eva demanded. “I want to know. Don’t lie to me, Sophie. I’m tired of being lied to.”

  “I never lied to you, Eva! I just—”

  “You’re just sleeping with the man who broke my heart! You betrayed me, Sophie! You betrayed our friendship.”

  “Eva, I swear, I told you, I didn’t know that Ben had—that Ben was the one who—”

  Who . . . what? Who ruined your life? Or the one who saved his own?

  “—the one who broke up with you.”

  “And when you did find out?” Eva pressed. “When the truth came to light, what then? Did you dump the jerk who broke your friend’s heart? No, you chose him over me!”

  This isn’t a contest, I thought. What is Eva thinking! “He didn’t—”

  “He didn’t what, he didn’t break my heart? Is that what you were going to say? You don’t believe me? Why, because Ben told you his version of what happened?”

  What could I say? Another shadow of doubt crept over me then. Was I, after all, just a dupe in Ben’s game? Would he leave me with some vague excuse just like he left Eva? What, I thought, did I really know about Ben?

  Then, again, what did I really know about Eva?

  86

  Dear Answer Lady:

  I ate my roommate’s last piece of leftover pizza. I denied it but my roommate knows no one else was in our apartment. Is it too late to come clean and apologize?

  Dear Compulsive Eater:

  Apologize immediately and get yourself into Over-Eaters Anonymous now.

  EVA

  I had to confront her. I had to. So the first thing the next morning I went to Sophie’s apartment. She was still in her robe.

  “Does John know about this?” I demanded.

  She had the courtesy to look embarrassed. “Yes.”

  “Shit!”

  “Eva,” she argued, “he’s my friend. And yours. I asked for his advice about how and when to tell you.”

  I imagined John enjoying the dark irony of this debacle. “And what did he say?”

  “He said you deserved to know the truth right away.”

  “Right away,” I repeated. Had that really been John’s advice? Or was Sophie protecting him for some reason? “But you continued to keep me in the dark.” I said. “When, exactly, were you planning on telling me?”

  “Soon, Eva, I swear. We were—I was just looking for the right moment. Please believe me.”

  Why should I have believed her? Who knew what other secrets she was hiding from me? “Do you know what it was like to see you two together?” I demanded. “To be confronted like that? To see the person you once loved kiss the person you think is your friend?”

  Sophie put her hand over her heart and gave me one of those obnoxious, pleading looks. “I’m sorry, Eva, I’m so sorry.”

  “An apology isn’t good enough,” I spat. “What does an apology do for me?”

  “What do you want me to do?” Sophie asked. “Stop seeing Ben?”

  I couldn’t reply. I didn’t know what I wanted from Sophie or from Ben or from myself.

  Sophie shook her head as if she was beyond weary. And I left. But I didn’t just leave. I stalked to the door of Sophie’s perfectly appointed apartment and slammed it behind me in a magnificent huff.

  How stupid I’d been! When Jake had told me that his mother was seeing a man named Ben, why hadn’t I been the least bit suspicious? Because it had never occurred to me that a man who found me attractive could also be attracted to Sophie Holmes. Because I’d considered myself superior to Sophie, more beautiful, more stylish, more successful.

  Stupid. I’d been an arrogant fool. And now I was being punished for it.

  And John was witness to my humiliation! Every nerve tingled and my heart began to race. It frightened me, this overwhelming sensation of anger and violence. I wanted to attack. And I wanted to defend myself at all costs against any further pain.

  87

  The suppression of truth (suppressio veri) is a time-honored practice in every form of government including our own. As successful as this practice is in ordering the masses, it is equally as successful in ordering—or, in controlling—the individuals in one’s personal life. Those skilled in the suppression of truth are inevitably those with the most material gain to show for their efforts.

  —Various Methods of Playing Fast and Loose with the Truth

  JOHN

  The door to my office was closed. Lately, I’d taken to keeping it that way. If it bothered the other partners they weren’t bothered enough to complain.

  Ellen buzzed me. “John,” she said in a neutral voice, “an Eva Fitzpatrick is here to see you.”

  “Send her in, please.”

  My mood leapt in anticipation. Until the second I saw her face and knew she’d learned about Sophie and Ben.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I asked lamely. “I’ve got water, juice—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Sophie was seeing my former boyfriend?” Eva stood squarely in front of me, her body rigid.

  “Why don’t you sit,” I suggested.

  Eva didn’t respond. Oh, boy.

  “When,” I said, “did Sophie tell you?”

  “She didn’t.” Eva laughed grimly. “I caught the two of them on the street last night. After our dinner.”

  One: Eva’s choice of the word “caught” wasn’t a good sign. One only “catches” an illicit couple, not a proper one. And two: Why the hell hadn’t Sophie warned me of this?

  “Does Sophie know you saw her?” I asked. “And Ben?”

  Eva folded her arms across her chest. I find it odd when women do this; I don’t know why. “Oh, she knows. I was just at her apartment.”

  Poor Sophie. I made a mental note to check in with her after Eva . . . After Eva, what? Calmed down? That was going to take some time.

  “I only just found out myself,” I said in the most reasonable, gentle voice I could manage. “And I promised that I wouldn’t say anything to you. Sophie felt it was important the information come from her.”

  “You must have had quite the chuckle at my expense last night. Sitting across the table from me, keeping me in ignorance!”

  “I hated not being able to tell you last night,” I said urgently. “You’ve got to believe me, Eva.”

  Eva laughed again, unpleasantly. “Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything anyone says? Aren’t you the one who said that everyone lies?”

  “Look,” I said, beginning to despair, “I’ve kept your secret. Sophie doesn’t know a thing about your lover. And I kept Sophie’s secret. I thought I was being a good friend to the both of you.”

  “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

  “Maybe. But, look, Eva, I advised Sophie and Ben to tell you immediately. Short of breaking Sophie’s confidence, what else was I supposed to do?”

  Eva’s jaw dropped. I know it’s a cliché but people use the image for a reason. “You saw Ben?”

  Had I been asked to keep that from Eva, too? That I’d met her ex? This
whole thing was getting way out of hand.

  “Eva, let’s talk about this later, okay?” I asked. “I have a meeting in five minutes. I’ll call you when it’s over and we’ll make a time to—”

  “Don’t bother!” Eva said angrily. “I don’t care if I never see you again!”

  She slammed out of the office, leaving me a bit shell-shocked and wondering if she could possibly mean what she had said.

  A moment later there came a knock.

  “Come in,” I said miserably.

  Ellen quietly closed the door behind her.

  “She’s very attractive.”

  “She’s impossible,” I replied.

  “You wouldn’t be interested in her if she was—possible.”

  Was that true? Disturbing thought. “Hmm,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Ellen said calmly, “she’s your cross to bear.”

  I looked up at my assistant dubiously. “Are you saying that Eva is my fate?”

  “Maybe. Something big is at work. The energy between you two was crackling through the door.”

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked. “On my part, I mean?”

  “Yes. But I’m guessing she hasn’t entirely realized her feelings for you.”

  I rubbed my forehead before asking: “You think she ever will?”

  Ellen shrugged. “Hard to say. I suppose coming right out and telling her how you feel is not a possibility.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s probably the worst thing I could do.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right. This is a tough one.”