He nods. “I saw him.”
I fold my arms beneath my breasts and look down at my toes and Tutu Pink nail polish. “Your friend is a really bad person.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“Not if you can’t remember him.”
I look up. “Oh, I get it now. You think you can trip me up and prove to yourself and everyone else that I’m lyin’ about amnesia.” The doorbell rings and I say over my shoulder as I walk away, “You might think you’re smarter than me, but you can’t mess me up with ‘gotcha’ questions. It won’t work.” Right before I answer the door, I yell across at him, “Not even if you are a member of Mensa.” I let in the same waiter who’s brought me dinner the past several nights.
“Hello, Tony.” He’s carrying the same tray and wearing the same spotless tuxedo.
“Hello, Miss Chatsworth-Jones. How are you this evening?”
“Dandy, thank you, sir. How are you?”
“I’m just fine, thank you. Will you be eating in the kitchen or dining room?”
“Kitchen.” I put a hand to my throat and gasp. “Is that a Dr Pepper?”
“Coke isn’t on your order, but I know how you like your Dr Pepper at night.”
“You’re a man after my own heart.” I pat the sides of my dress like I have pockets, then remember my clutch on the couch. “Not everyone knows that Coke means Dr Pepper.” I don’t have to sign a bill or anything, but I like to tip him anyway. I grab the little purse and give him a twenty, toss the clutch on the kitchen island and tell Tony good night. The island is stainless steel and some sort of white-and-gray stone, and the stools are clear like glass and more comfortable than they look, but cold. “If you change your mind, you can have some of my chicken,” I tell Oliver as I pour my Dr Pepper.
He shakes his head. “I’ll take some water, though.”
I point my fork at the refrigerator and turn my attention to my salad. I don’t think I ever had Caesar salad before the accident. Don’t know why, just one of life’s mysteries. Like the pyramids and fish falling from the sky.
I can feel Oliver’s green eyes on me and look up as he unscrews the silver top of the glass bottle. He takes a drink, then sucks a drop of water from his bottom lip. “When did you cut your wrists?”
“I don’t know.” Which is technically true, though I can guess. “And before you ask, I don’t know why, either. And even if I did, it’s not your business.”
“True, but I’m asking anyway.” I ignore him and eat my salad. He finally gets the hint and says, “Meredith said you fell and hit your head somewhere in Italy.”
“Amalfi Coast, so I’m told.”
“That’s the story, at any rate.”
I look at him. “Are you callin’ my parents liars?”
He folds his arms across his broad chest and shoves a hip into the stone island. “Why did you run when you saw Troy?”
He’s not going to let it go, and I give in because he rescued me from Wicky. I’m appreciative, and I figure he deserves an explanation. “Fine, he’s a coward,” I say between bites. “He’s a liar. He cheats on his wife.” I raise my fork with a piece of chicken on it. “If you’re so curious, you go ask him, but I doubt he’ll tell you.” I eat my chicken, then add, “While you’re there, I’ll pay you to open a can of whup-ass on him.”
“I’d have to know why I need to open ‘whup-ass.’?”
Because he should pay for what he did to Edie. “Fine.” I grab my clutch and pull out my phone. “I found this the other day in a purse.” I pull up the old texts and hand it to him. “Start at the top.”
I watch him raise one brow and then the other and then they smash together in the middle. I suspect that’s the part about Meredith. “For the record, I like your sister. She and Georgie and Rowan came to visit me just yesterday. She gave me a nice flower arrangement and I gave her Magnus for the week. I think she got the short end of that deal.” He looks at the phone like he might say something, but I head him off at the pass. “I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to think about him. When I do, I feel sick thinkin’ that he touched me.” I take a breath and continue. “I don’t remember anything about tryin’ to kill myself, but I suspect it had somethin’ to do with callin’ off my weddin’ at the last minute and Wicky bein’ an asshat.”
He nods and sets the phone down. “If you feel that way, why haven’t you deleted the text?”
“I ask myself that same question. Half the time I think I should, but the other half thinks his wife should know.”
He takes a couple of swigs of water and watches me over the bottle. When he’s done, he says, “Troy cheats just to cheat. I’m sure she knows.”
I’d never cheat with a married man, and I’d never put up with a cheating man. I’d kick him to the curb like Momma did, and… she went on a cruise with her cheating man, my daddy. I know because I stalked Momma and found some pictures she posted online the other day. They were lying on a sandy beach somewhere, umbrella drinks in hand, laughing and smiling, and it’s too much for my brain to process.