Exchanging confused glances with Josie, the puzzle became more intriguing as she thought about it. If the news channels were covering this, it meant it was all recent. So perhaps it was too recent – they just didn't know how to explain it?
Too much benefit of the doubt. She yelled at herself mentally. They still should have told you! Of course they should have, and they damn well knew it. She'd given them every opportunity over the past few weeks, and she was most hurt not that they were billionaires – which she actually found to be pretty damn awesome – but that they hid it from her.
Why?
Josie stood, dumping Dotty unceremoniously from her lap, the cat landing gracefully on the small, shag carpet and surveying the room, eyeing her options. Laura, a throw pillow, the carpet. She chose to leave, clearly displeased with her sudden displacement.
“This calls for some breakfast. You hungry?” Without waiting for the answer, Josie went into the kitchen and started the Keurig up again. The sounds of rummaging floated toward Laura, and in two minutes Josie returned with a box of frozen donut holes and her new cup of coffee.
“Martha Stewart,” Laura sighed, hand over her heart.
“I'm more a trashy version of Rachel Ray. But these are yummy pumpkin donuts.”
“Already? Isn't that a fall flavor?”
“It's August.”
“August isn't fall.”
“In retail it is.” Josie threw up her hands and grabbed one of the dough balls, carefully biting into it. Laura did the same, surprised by how hard and soft the donut hole was. It was a cakey consistency and dense. The half she managed to bite was absolutely delicious. Without being asked, Josie grabbed Laura's glass and returned with it full. A girl could get used to this. She was the one who tended to cater to Josie; it felt nice to be taken care of like this, even in the smallest of ways.
Dotty returned to the room at the entrance of the donut holes, sniffing the box until Josie shoved her off. Offended, she strutted into Josie's room and out of Laura's sight. Although the pastry tasted great, her stomach just didn't want anything.
Why? Why hadn't they told her?
“Maybe they're just assholes,” Josie said slowly, answering Laura's internal question. “Maybe they thought you were a gold digger.”
“How could I be a gold digger if I didn't know they had so much money?” Her phone buzzed again. Turning it off completely seemed like a perfect solution, her finger holding down the off button with so much force it left a red imprint in her fingertip. Too bad you couldn't slam a phone down in the cradle like you could when she was a kid. That satisfaction was one area where smart phones just didn't measure up.
“They keep calling?”
“They keep something-ing. Calls. Texts. Hell, they may have resorted to email.”
“Not email! Only our parents use email.” An old joke between them.
“I expect Dylan will find a passenger pigeon's corpse and resurrect it.”
“Or worse – use MySpace.”
Bzzzz. Confused, Laura looked at her phone. It was definitely off. “That's me,” Josie explained. Leaping across the room, she foraged in her giant purse and found her phone. Slide, tap, tap. Her face! The look on her face made Laura want to administer oxygen and call 911.
“Josie?”
“Dylan!” She shouted his name like she was screaming the word “fuck!” Flailing her phone to and fro, she added, “How in the hell did he get my number?”
“I never gave it to him or Mike. I swear!” Laura answered. He was this desperate? Really?
“At Laura's work. She's not here. Is she with you? Is she safe? We'll keep searching.” Josie laughed, a barking horsey sound that registered extraordinary disgust. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
Sigh. “He's persistent.”
“He's a whackadoo.”
“Well...” That he would somehow track down Josie's cell phone number meant he was serious about finding her. She had zero desire to see either of them right now. Zero. They really had shredded her life, and what she wanted most was to turn the earth backwards, like in that old Superman movie, and make all of this go away.
No. What she really wanted was two men who could be honest and open and tell the truth about themselves so they could all live happily ever after. Was that too much to ask? Jill had died and turned out to have gobs of money that she passed on to the guys. They hid that information from her because –
Her blood ran cold, stomach twisting.
Because they didn't trust her.
“Oh, God,” she muttered. “Josie.” Her friend sensed the shift in her voice and came closer, curling her legs under herself on a small, faded, orange velvet chair.
“Yeah? What is it.”
“They – they,” she stammered, her chin quivering now, eyes filling with hot tears and throat salty and thick. “They never trusted me. They wanted the money and a woman but couldn't tell me because they didn't trust me. They just – I don't know!” she wailed, her volume increasing as her pulse raced and her mind raced even faster.
“Oh, Honey,” Josie replied, reaching for Laura's hand. “You are so trustworthy and so not into money.”
“I know, right?” Laura screeched. “It's laughable.” Maniacal laugh. “They couldn't have picked a worse thing to be worried about, right? I'm the girl who shops as much as possible at vintage and thrift shops to save money. I drive an older car and I put money in my stupid 401K every paycheck and I pay my student loans on time and I follow all the rules.” Her voice rose. “All the fucking rules, right? I do everything right. Everything! And this is how the universe repays me? Seriously. I feel like I got a galactic shit dumped on my head this morning.”
“You did.”
“A billion dollar shit!” Her voice was like a gospel preacher, the intonation more revival than revulsion.
“Yes, ma'am!”
“And if those two fuckers thought they could have the best sex ever with me but couldn't bother to tell me the truth about something this big, then they don't deserve me!”
“Indeed.” Josie sat back down and leaned forward. “Billionaire bastards.” Laura shot her a harsh look, wondering if she was poking fun, but she wasn't. The words mattered, and they were true. Both men were such steaming assholes she couldn't believe it, the urge to start hyperventilating competing with the desire to punch them both in the face, even if she'd need a stool to reach Mike.
“I can't believe Dylan tracked you down like that,” Laura chuckled.
“Should I reply?”
Blinking, Laura came to a screeching halt in her mind, the question jarring. Should Josie reply? What would she say? What should she say? No etiquette manual was designed for this. Dan Savage needed to write one. How should your best friend reply when one of your threesome boyfriends turns out to be a billionaire and stalks you to try to make up?
That would be popular.
Laura smoothed her sweater over her belly, which pooched out enough to send some sort of a cat invitation to Dotty. She plopped down on Laura's lap and turned into a furnace, which was great in January but horribly warm in August. Get used to it, Laura, her mind said. It's the only touch you're getting for a long time that doesn't involve plastic and batteries.
For some reason, that made her finally break down and sob. Not the sheer humiliation in the work lobby. Not the rage that claimed her so easily on the staircase, her feet still aching from that howlingly stupid move. And not the thought that once again, as with Ryan, as with so many guys in high school and college, as with Dylan and Mike the first time they made love, she felt tiny and cheated and shamed and grotesque because nothing had turned out as planned, and her own blind naivete meant that here she was sobbing and racked with grief, her best friend stroking her shoulder and nothing had changed.
She was the same Laura this happened to, time in and time out, a decade and more of falling for guys who cared less for her than she cared for them, respected her in a way that made her queasy with doubt, and who managed to give her just enough hope such that when it all came crashing down what hurt most was that they ever gave her any.
It would have been easier to become a cat lady who never bothered, and she was about to do just that. As soon as it was safe to go home. If Dylan was hunting down Josie's number and texting her, then she damn sure couldn't go home right now. Weak and addled, her mind might play a game of sabotage on her, believing whatever smooth line he came up with to try to convince her that she should get up once more, strip naked before them, and let them ridicule her pure, loving heart.
Nope.
Done.
“Josie,” she announced, her voice sounding like a drill sergeant's. Wiping the tears with the bottom hem of her sweater, careful not to get cat hair in her eyes, she sniffed and demanded, “you are going to text that motherfucker back.”
“Yes, Ma'am!” Holding her phone, Josie looked expectantly at Laura. Hmmm. Now what? What could she possibly say to Dylan that would make him stay away? That would make him just evaporate, with Mike, and let her go on and live a life that didn't have so much pain and wonder in it? Were there magic words she could fit in a text that would do that?
She had to try. “OK, so type, 'If you say it's complicated I'll cut your balls off and put them on the warlock waitress.'”
