"Yeah, right," I said, then words burst from me as the tears had. "I've always been such a bitch to you. Why are you being nice to me? I don't deserve it. I'm a screw up. You don't even know. Everything I touch goes wrong. There's no way to fix my life."
Kegan turned to me, the street lights casting odd shadows over his face and making him look like a stranger. "There's always a way. It might not be obvious right away, but there is one. If you keep looking, and don't hate yourself for the mistakes, you'll find it."
"Easy for you to say. Your life is perfect."
He shook his head. "Everything you've ever thought about me," he said quietly but with intensity, "was true. You're right, I was a jerk. I was a control freak. Insensitive. Driven beyond all sense. I said it was just who I was and I'd always be that way. I was wrong, though. The hardest thing I ever did was changing myself, and I'm still not where I want to be. I'm certainly not perfect. But I'm better. Better is all we can ask for."
His raw honesty hurt. "I'm not better," I said, nearly whimpered. "I just keep getting worse. Everyone else is better and I'm worse. The worst."
"You're not." He took a firm hold of my shoulder. "Don't hate yourself, Larissa. I did that, for too long. It's awful."
"You?" I stared at him. "But you always seemed so sure of yourself."
He gave me a twisted smile. "To be blunt, so did you. Don't judge your insides by my outsides, or anyone else's for that matter. We've all got our problems. The important thing is to face them head-on."
Part of me knew he was right, but most of me just wanted to hide. "Okay. Thanks." I reached for the door handle.
He let go of my shoulder immediately and unbuckled his seat belt. I got out of the car before he could open the door for me, and we walked together up to my front door.
"Want me to take you any further?"
I shook my head. I had to be alone. "I'm fine. But thanks. Again."
"No need to thank me." His eyes were serious. "I'm just so glad I picked that moment to do my usual check of the alley." He fumbled in his back pocket and pulled something out.
"Don't even think about giving me money," I snapped, outraged. "I'm not a beggar."
He held up a gold engraved business card case. "I wasn't."
My face flamed. "Oh. Sorry."
"I did consider it." He gave me a small smile. "But I suspected you'd refuse. Apparently I was right."
"Apparently," I echoed in a whisper, feeling like an even bigger bitch than before.
"I wanted to give you my card." He drew one out, then took a silver pen from his coat pocket and wrote several lines on its back. "That's my cell phone number and email address," he said, holding out the rectangle of creamy ivory. "If you change your mind about calling the cops--"
I took the card automatically but said, "I won't."
"Or just want to talk," he went on as if I hadn't interrupted, "you can get me there. Please do if you want to. Any time."
He waited for a response, but I was too shocked to come up with one, so he gave me a nod and turned to walk away.
Before he reached the road I said, "Why?"
He looked back. "Why what?"
I waved the card at him.
He returned to me. "Because. Because changing is damned hard and if you ever feel like you want to change you might want to talk to someone who's done it. At least partly. I'm not done yet. But I'm improving."
I wasn't. "Okay," I whispered as my tears rose again. "Thank you."
He studied me for a moment, his eyes solemn and sad, then held out his arms to me.
I resisted for a second, but I needed comfort too much to fight it any longer. One single step forward, just one step, and I was in Kegan's embrace for the first time.
He drew me close, but it wasn't remotely sexual. It felt safe and secure, like the kind of hug girls on TV got from their fathers, and I buried my face in his chest and cried harder than I ever had before.
Chapter Seven
"Turn around a bit, Larissa," Candice's mother said. "Hold Erik up on your shoulder. It'll be a better picture."
"Mom!"
"What? I'm just saying it'd be nicer not to see those big scabs."
Candice took a breath to respond and I quickly switched my hold on Erik so I could literally turn my other cheek and said, "Here. Is this better?"
Mrs. Taylor, who had never in all the years I'd known her daughter invited me to call her Betty, nodded. "Thanks, dear. See, Candice, Larissa gets it."
Candice turned her back on her mother and mouthed to me, "Sorry."
I gave her a little shrug, and she smiled and rolled her eyes then stepped out of the way so the photographer could continue her work. I'd been at weddings that didn't require as many photos as Candice's mom had demanded, but at least while I was smiling for the pictures I didn't have to discuss my face.
I'd texted Candice on Saturday to let her know so she wouldn't be shocked Sunday, but she'd been shocked anyhow. Not a surprise, since the deeper parts of the scrape had developed thick ugly scabs and the shallower bits looked like a multitude of tiny scratches.
I hadn't told her what had really happened, of course. I wouldn't tell anyone. Ever.
I'd texted my friend Lydia the second I got home on Friday and asked her to have lunch with me on Saturday, thinking I might actually be able to tell her since she wasn't married either and would understand the pull Greg had on me. But when we met she was bubbling over about some guy named Percy who she'd known in school who was now working with her. I didn't think she knew she was falling for him but it was so obvious to me that I couldn't bear the idea of bringing her down by telling her about the mess I'd made. Instead, I made myself act bright and cheerful and she didn't seem to notice I was faking.
On the way home I'd decided that Lydia's lack of attention had been a blessing in disguise. There was no point in telling anyone what had happened. It was over, so why bother?
Even if I had told Candice the truth, I couldn't imagine how I'd have told her about my encounter with Kegan. He'd held me on the front steps of my building until I became too embarrassed to stay in his arms any longer, at which point I pulled away and muttered a "thanks" and fled into the building without looking back. In the elevator up to my apartment, I'd studied the business card he'd given me, which did indeed have an email address and phone number written on the back along with the words "if you ever want to talk", then stuffed it into my wallet where it still resided. I knew I'd never use it, but it seemed wrong to throw it out right away. It had been nice of him.
"Smile, please," the photographer called, and I realized I was letting my mask slip. I brightened my grin and my eyes, using all the tricks I'd learned by watching models at work, and tried not to think any more.
I couldn't help it, though, couldn't stop my mind replaying how I'd gone into my apartment and seen the mess of clothes I'd tried on and discarded in such breathless excitement for my date with Greg and how for one brief horrifying moment I'd wondered whether killing myself was the answer to all my problems.
I'd never considered suicide before, and the shock I felt when the thought hit me made me hope I'd never consider it again. But even the fact I'd considered it once terrified me, and I couldn't stop thinking about it as I bundled up and threw away my ripped skirt and the sweater I could no longer stand the sight of and put away the rest of the clothes. Could my life really be that bad?
Objectively, probably not. But I didn't feel objective at the moment. I couldn't see a single area in my life that felt good, that felt like I knew what I was doing.
Candice retrieved her son and passed him off to his godfather. Carl was a nice enough guy, who'd worked with Ian for years, but the enthusiasm in Candice's voice when she introduced us that morning had made it clear to me that my oldest friend hoped we would hit it off.
Carl couldn't have been a more stereotypical nerd if he'd tried, telling me all about his latest comic book acquisition as we waited for the christening to begin and informi
ng me with no shame that he'd never bothered moving out of his parents' basement because it let him keep his money for comic books. In short, he was the kind of guy Candice and I had laughed in our twenties about eventually being stuck marrying.
I hated being set up at the best of times, but the realization that she actually thought dragging this guy out of his mommy's basement would be better for me than being alone hurt. It was just another sign that Candice and I didn't see the world the same way any more.
Once the picture-taking was again under way, Candice returned to me and murmured, "You okay?"
"Yup," I said, forcing another bright smile. "My face is just a little sore."
"No wonder." She shook her head. "I'm so sorry about my mom. Next time she slips and falls, you have my permission to mock her."
"You got it," I said, and she chuckled then excused herself to speak to an aunt and uncle who were waving at her from across the room.
I hadn't been sure anyone would believe that I'd slipped on ice and happened to slide face-first down a brick wall, but nobody seemed to question my story.
Not that they'd ever have guessed what had really happened.
Trying again to push all that aside, I looked around to make sure everything was right. Hosting the christening at my place was a huge responsibility, and I'd spent all day yesterday cleaning and polishing and doing my best to ensure Candice's mother couldn't find anything to disapprove of. I'd taken a break only to do all the grocery shopping, although having to take out another two hundred bucks to replace the money I'd lost had hurt. Candice was reimbursing me for the purchases, of course, but the stolen money was my problem.
Grocery shopping.
Shock and horror stabbed through me. The whole time at the store I'd known I was forgetting something but I hadn't been able to remember what because I'd been so self-conscious about the way people were peering at my battered face.
I looked around frantically and saw Ian leaning against the back wall of my crowded apartment watching the photography session. Hating what I had to do, I sidled over to him and said, "I messed up."
He turned to me. "No way, everything's great."
That made it even harder to tell him. "I forgot to buy pop."
He shut his eyes for a moment. "Oh, hell."
"I know." Believe me. "I'm so sorry. With my face and--" I stumbled, not wanting to tell him about the money. "And everything else for today, it just slipped my mind. I'll go out right now."
He looked at me, relief in his eyes. "Would you? If it was anything else, anyone else, I'd say not to worry about it, but..."
He didn't bother finishing the sentence and I didn't need him to. I'd seen Candice's mom in enough angry moods to know she could blow the christening apart. I nodded. "I'm on it. I'll sneak out to the grocery store across the street."
He gave my arm a squeeze. "You're the best."
While my arm was still tingling in an unpleasantly pleasant way from the touch of my best friend's husband, he reached for his wallet. "No," I said, realizing what he was doing. "I'm fine. Really."
"Not a chance."
Candice's sweet doddering grandmother had said to me, as we milled around at the church after the ceremony, "Wasn't that lovely, dear? To see my son's daughter up there with her own baby... so wonderful. The whole time I was thinking about how sweet it all is and how happy you all must be that Candice and Ian have another little baby. You were thinking that too, I'm sure."
I'd hated myself a lot in my life, for many different reasons, but the way I felt when she said that and I had to admit to myself that what I'd been thinking was "I wish Candice and I could trade places" dwarfed all the rest. What kind of monster wants to take her best friend's happiness, take her children and her husband? Especially her husband, who was now holding my wrist with one hand and trying to stuff money into my clenched fist with the other. "You will take it," he said, grinning at me easily, "so you might as well give in."
Over his shoulder, I saw Candice's dad watching us with confusion, and realized we were dangerously close to causing a scene. I opened my hand.
"Told you." Ian released the bills once he was sure I had them and his grin widened.
"I'm only taking it so I can get out of here before anyone realizes what I did."
His grin collapsed. "Good point. Okay, if you're sure you don't mind, get going. Better if you're back before she knows."
"Before who knows?"
Ian turned to his father-in-law. "We have a Diet Coke situation. As in, there is none."
Peter, who had told me to use his first name the day Candice and I graduated high school, feigned a horror he probably did feel and said, "Run, Larissa. Run like you stole something."
I smiled at him, though I felt sick, and ran.
I didn't even make it to the door.
"Larissa, honey, can I get my own picture of you with little Erik?"
I turned to Candice's grandmother. "I'd love to, but I just have to step out for a minute. I'll be right back."
She gave me the cutest pout I'd ever seen. "Oh, but I'm leaving soon. Can't we do this first?"
"I'm really sorry," I said, casting a frantic look back toward Ian only to see him still talking to Peter with his back to me, "but I do have to go. I promise, I'll be fast."
She tipped her head to one side, then her eyes widened. "You're not a smoker, are you, dear? You can't be around the baby if-- and you've already held him! Oh, Candice! Come quickly!"
Ignoring my protests, she called Candice again, then ruined everything by adding, "Betty! Peter!"
Everyone rushed over, and the well-intended but aggravating lady was reassured that I didn't smoke and hadn't endangered her first great-grandson. Once she understood, she said to me, "But then why did you want to go outside?"
Candice looked at me, surprised, but Ian stepped in with a calm control of the situation that reminded me of Kegan. No wonder Candice had loved them both. A sharp flash of jealousy snapped through me at how much better her romantic history was than mine, followed by an even sharper flash of self-hatred at the jealousy, all in the time it took Ian to draw a long breath before he said, "Larissa kindly agreed to do me a favor at the grocery store. It'll only take a minute. If we just let her go she'll be back before we know it."
Candice turned her surprised face to him, but it cleared at once. "Well, if it's a favor to you, it's okay with me. Larissa, you're okay to go alone?"
I nodded. Never mind 'okay', I was desperate to go alone.
"No," Candice's mother said. "Gladys needs to be back at the home by five for early bingo, so we should have cake right now."
Cake, with which I knew she'd expect her beloved pop. "But I have to..."
I trailed off, seeing everyone watching me.
"What is it that you have to do?" Her eyes flicked to my scraped cheek. "It's not something to do with-- you did just slip and fall, right? You weren't drunk or something?"
Outrage at the accusation made me tell her the truth. "No, nothing like that. It's the Diet Coke. I--"
"I forgot," Ian said loudly, "to ask Larissa to get any pop."
We all turned to him, but though I appreciated it I couldn't let him take the blame. "Actually, Mrs. Taylor, I'm the one who forgot. I'm very sorry. There's a grocery store right across the street, though, and I will run over there and be back in no time."
She shook her head, and for a second I thought she was going to do the polite thing and tell me not to worry about it. Instead, she said, "But it'd be warm. And even if they keep some cold, it'd be all shaken up when you get back. No, I'll survive."
Candice and I had watched her mother "survive" enough situations over the years that I knew all too well how bad the rest of the day would be. "I insist. I'll be right back."
But she wouldn't allow it. Though I begged and protested in every way I could, and Ian and Candice both told her they'd be happy to go with me and it would be no trouble, she refused to allow me to take five minutes to make her happy.
"Okay, Mom," Candice said at last. "If that's how you want it. Let's just have the cake, okay?"
I brought it out, relieved we were moving on. The cake was adorable, so it should make everything better. After much deliberation I'd picked out a white teddy bear to honor Candice's first tattoo. The cute bear wore a blue t-shirt with "Congratulations, Erik" piped across it. As I set it down on the table next to the personalized napkins and paper plates Candice's mom had brought, my stomach twisted.
The cake said Erik. The paper stuff all said Eric.
Candice noticed at the same time. "Smudge it," she hissed at me, and I reached out with the knife I'd brought.
I wasn't fast enough.
"Eric with a K? Why would they mess it up like that?" Candice's mother raised her voice and looked around the room as she added, "They've messed up his cake. How ridiculous."
Candice's eyes met mine. She raised her eyebrows a tiny bit, and I winced. We'd had an Erik at school with us and I hadn't even thought that she'd spelled her son's name differently. She flinched but held herself together. "Mom, it doesn't matter." She took the knife from me and scooped the extra icing from the offending letter. "There. It's fine."
"Oh, it is not. It's smudged. How can I take a picture of it now?"
"With your camera," Candice burst out, before taking a deep breath. "Mom. It's okay. Please."
"He's my first grandson," she said. "My last, too, if you only have two kids. Of course I'm disappointed it's not perfect."
Something about how she was extra-upset because her grandson's christening wasn't perfect enraged me. My dad would have felt the same. He'd always wanted a boy, and his only consolation at having me and my sister Rachel instead had been his constant insistence that someday we would provide him with grandsons. Since he'd died when I was twelve, I'd failed him there just as I'd failed Candice here.
"Betty, it's all right," Peter said. "We'll eat it just as it is, and Candice and Ian can ask for their money back from the bakery later."
"Of course," she said. "They'll have to reimburse them, they messed up." She grabbed the box lid before I could remove it from the table and checked the request form attached to it. "Ah," she said, a world of meaning in her tone.
Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13) Page 33