Chương 10
“You do that.”
“This feels like a strange time for feedback.”
“It is.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
A small, ugly laugh.
Fiona smiled for half a second.
Arthur looked between us as if we had both defected.
“I’m going inside.”
He walked past us without waiting.
The gate slammed behind him.
Fiona watched him disappear among the trees.
“He’s going to drink too much.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll blame you.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll blame Donovan.”
“Probably.”
“He’ll blame Ray somehow.”
“Almost certainly.”
She looked at me.
“He won’t blame me.”
“No.”
That answer hurt her.
We walked back toward the house together.
Neither of us spoke for the first half of the path.
The gravel gave way to grass.
Through the trees, the yard lights came into view.
People had resumed eating.
Somebody had cut the cake without waiting for us.
Fiona stared at the missing corner.
“They cut my cake.”
“You disappeared for forty minutes.”
“It’s still rude.”
“That’s the first normal thing you’ve said in an hour.”
She gave me a sideways look.
“I hate that frosting.”
“You picked it.”
“Donovan likes buttercream.”
“You’re marrying him, not becoming him.”
“That remains under review.”
The joke died almost immediately.
She looked down.
“Sorry.”
“He said space.”
“I know.”
“You should give it to him.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s leaving.”
“I know.”
I stopped walking.
Fiona took two more steps before turning around.
“You don’t have to say you know when you’re terrified.”
She stared at me.
“What am I supposed to say?”
“The truth.”
“The truth is I think he’s going to call off the wedding.”
There it was.
No performance.
No cleverness.
Just fear.
I looked toward the patio where Donovan stood beside his mother, nodding while she talked.
He wasn’t looking at us.
“I don’t know what he’ll do.”
Fiona folded her arms.
“That is a terrible comforting statement.”
“I’m not good at comforting statements.”
“No kidding.”
“But if he ends it, it won’t be because you failed one qualification.”
She looked at me.
“And if he stays?”
“Then it can’t be because you convinced him none of this mattered.”
Her eyes dropped.
“I hate you a little right now.”
“I can live with that.”
“I know.”
We continued toward the house.
A few guests noticed us and immediately pretended not to.
Others didn’t bother pretending.
Fiona’s coworker, the woman who had lowered her phone earlier, approached with two plates of cake.
“I saved these.”
Fiona looked at the frosting.
“You’re a bad friend.”
The woman blinked.
“You know I hate buttercream.”
“Oh.”
Then Fiona hugged her.
The woman held both plates awkwardly away from Fiona’s uniform.
When they separated, she whispered something I couldn’t hear.
Fiona nodded.
No explanations.
No confession.
Just a quiet exchange between two people who would have to see each other Monday.
That consequence seemed to reach Fiona too.
Her face tightened.
She handed me one plate.
“I suddenly can’t eat.”
“Neither can I.”
“Then why did you take it?”
“It was handed to me.”
“You’re extremely obedient in weird situations.”
“I’m aware.”
Arthur was at the bar pouring bourbon.
The level in the glass was already too high.
He saw us and turned away.
Fiona noticed.
She looked wounded.
Then angry at herself for being wounded.
Donovan crossed the lawn toward us.
Fiona’s entire body changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that I saw how much she loved him.
He stopped in front of her.
“My mom wants to know if we’re still doing the toast.”
Fiona’s face went pale.
“Oh God.”
“We can cancel it.”
“No.”
“You sure?”
She looked around the yard.
People were talking again, but attention kept drifting toward us.
Some had certainly heard enough at the range to invent whatever they missed.
Fiona took a slow breath.
“What did you tell your mom?”
“That we had a family argument.”
“She believe you?”
“She has met my family.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No.”
Fiona almost smiled.
Then she looked at the small stage near the patio.
“Do the toast.”
Donovan studied her.
“You don’t have to perform.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
She thought about it.
“Because people came.”
“That sounds like performing.”
“Maybe.”
She rubbed her thumb over the bare place where the badge had been.
“Maybe I need to finish one thing tonight without pretending I’m somebody else.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
Arthur noticed them heading toward the patio and put down his glass.
He started forward.
Fiona saw him.
“Dad.”
He stopped.
She walked toward him alone.
I couldn’t hear the first thing she said.
Arthur answered sharply.
She shook her head.
He glanced at the guests.
She said something else.
His expression collapsed into disbelief.
Then Fiona walked away from him.
Arthur remained beside the bar.
When she reached the microphone, Donovan stood several feet away rather than beside her.
People quieted slowly.
Someone near the back shushed two children.
Fiona gripped the microphone with both hands.
“I had a speech.”
A few people laughed politely.
She looked toward the table where a folded sheet of paper waited beside a champagne flute.
“I’m not going to use it.”
The yard became quieter.
Fiona glanced at Donovan.
Then at me.
Then, finally, at Arthur.
“I spent most of tonight letting people believe things about me that weren’t true.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
Donovan did not move.
Fiona’s voice trembled.
“I’m not going to explain everything here because some of it isn’t appropriate for a party, and some of it isn’t only mine to discuss.”
She paused.
“But I wore something tonight I did not earn.”
A murmur passed through the guests.
Her coworker went very still.
Fiona swallowed.
“I knew that.”
Arthur whispered, “Jesus.”
She heard him.
Everyone near him probably did.
Fiona looked at him but kept speaking.
“That’s the part I can own without excuses.”
Donovan’s eyes stayed on her.
She took a breath.
“I’m sorry to the people I misled.”
No speech.
May you like
No tears.
No demand for forgiveness.
