Page 45 of Good Girls Lie

“You think listening to the rumors gives you some insight? You don’t know me. Thanks for the tea.”

30

THE REVELATION

I take off toward the coffee shop door, but Rumi leaps to his feet, imploring. “Wait, Ash. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick.”

“Yes, you did. You wanted me to feel sorry for you because you have to work around all these little rich girls. We all make our choices, Rumi. You’ve made yours. And I’ve made mine.”

“Stop. Really. Sit down. It’s pouring. I’ll drive you back.”

“Oh, my God, no. I’ll get in much more trouble if I do that.”

“You’re worried about getting in trouble?”

I pause. Am I, really? “No. It’s not like they’ll do anything awful to me. JPs. Saturday school. I’ll probably end up folding laundry or sorting the costumes in the theater.”

“Then stick around. Drink your tea.”

“It’s terrible,” I blurt, slapping a hand over my mouth.

Rumi laughs. “What did I do wrong?”

“You scalded it. And the teabag is old.”

“An espresso, then? I opened a new bag of beans an hour ago.”

He makes two, sets the tiny cups on the table, one for me, one for him. I take the sugar this time, drop it in, stir. Rumi waits patiently until I take a sip and nod approvingly before touching his own cup. His fingers are long, the nails clipped short, and I want to touch them. I want them to touch me.

I don’t understand myself. I’m furious with him, but I also want to see what it would feel like if he put his arms around me. He narrows perfectly from shoulder to waist. We’d fit well together.

Get a grip, Ash.

“Talk to me. I’m a good listener,” he says, sitting again.

What do I have to lose? “The coroner’s court found my father’s death a ‘misadventure.’ That’s the official story.”

“Makes it sounds like he was a pirate on the high seas. What’s the unofficial story?”

“A pirate. Oh, yes. He was. Until he took a handful of pills. When my mother found him dead in the dining room, she freaked out and shot herself.”

“Damn.”

“I found them.”

“Double damn.”

“We’d had a fight earlier in the day. We fought all the time, he and I. He...” I gesture to my cheek and Rumi’s lips thin as he grasps what I’m saying.

“Bastard.”

I shrug. “You can understand why I don’t want everyone at school talking about it. It’s bad enough they’re dead, and in such a splashy way. But these girls, they live for the details. They’ll be after me nonstop. And I can’t stop seeing it. Reliving it. They were so... And my mum, too...”

Shit, now I’m crying again. Twice in one hour, on two different shoulders. Am I so starved for compassion? Or have I kept everyone at arm’s length for so long I don’t know how to properly connect with people anymore?

Rumi hands over a napkin.

I gather myself, wipe my eyes. “Sorry.”