Page 113 of Desperate Lies
“Yes.”
Her features crumple, and she lets out a pitiful whimper. “Why?”
A pause. Then, “I’m not sure you want the answer to that.”
She blinks at me, tears rimming her eyes. “She’s my friend.” She chokes out a sob. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“No.”
She whines and tries to catch the sound by pressing both hands to her mouth, dropping them a moment later. “Has it been going on the whole time I’ve been away? All these months?”
“No. God, no.”
“Then how long? When did you last see her?”
“Before today? I saw her on the street briefly at Easter time. But if you mean, when did I last spend time with her? Just after you left. Months ago. Before Christmas.”
Lizzie’s breathing hitches. “Do you love her?”
The question hits like an unexpected blow, but the speed of my response shocks me even more. “Yes. I love her. I’m in love with her. I have been for months.”
Stepping away from the wall, she turns first one way, then the other, as if she has no idea what to do or where to go. She swipes at her tears with both hands, cursing as she does it.
My heart races, nerves churning in my gut. I want to reach out and hold her, but she’d only shove me away, so I wait.
When she’s marginally more composed, she rests back against the wall, slouching. “Does she know?”
“I haven’t told her.”
Lizzie presses her lips together, but it doesn’t stop the quiver in her chin. “And you’ve loved her all that time?”
“I have.”
Turning so her back is to me, she puts her hands on the concrete wall, looking out across the river. When she lowers her head, and I wonder if she might throw up. Her next question comes quietly. “Does she love you back?”
I step up beside her against the wall, the two of us looking out towards the river now. I fix my gaze on a small boat chugging down the Thames. “I don’t know.”
The breeze catches a strand of Lizzie’s dark hair, and she shifts it off her face. “Why haven’t you seen her?”
“She ended it. She didn’t want it to become something we’d have to hide from you when you came back. Said it would make her a terrible friend and me a terrible father.”
Lizzie tosses me a bitter look. “She’s not wrong about that last part.”
I hang my head, shaking it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She fiddles with a tiny pebble on the surface of the wall, rolling it with her fingertip for a few seconds. “She broke your heart.”
“I don’t—”
“She broke your heart to save mine.” It’s a statement that doesn’t welcome discussion.
I swallow. “I suppose so.”
She lets out a hopeless, manic sounding burst of laughter. “That’s what’s wrong with you.” Her shoulders sink, relief filling her voice. “God, I thought you were dying.”
“Dying?” I blurt.
“You look terrible. Like you’re not eating or something. I thought you might be sick and hadn’t told me. I’ve been waiting for you to break the news. You’re not sick, are you?”
