Page 123 of Old Money

He stands at the sinks, facing me through the mirror with a paper napkin in his hands. He balls up the napkin, tosses it in the trash and turns to face me.

“What now, Alice?” Patrick asks.

Chapter Fifty-Six

“Y’know, I knew this was coming,” Patrick continues. “But I never thought you’d actually crash the wedding.”

My gut churns with a queasy swirl of fear and anger and physical repulsion. I can’t bring myself to speak, or even open my mouth. I have no idea what might come out.

“If we’re going to do this, let’s get on with it,” he says. “I’d rather not spend my entire wedding day with you.”

I stay silent. Patrick sighs, then looks down, cracking an aggravated smile—that same one-sided smirk. As a teenager, it made him look mature and debonair. Now it makes him look younger, even with the weathered skin and faint dullness in his eyes. It shakes something loose in me, this glimpse of the boy he was.

“It wasn’t you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

But he hears me. The smirk vanishes, and Patrick’s face melts back into a somber stare. He takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

“No,” he answers heavily. “Of course it wasn’t.”

I shudder.

“Did you know it was him?”

Patrick hesitates. “I was pretty sure, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Patrick holds still, regarding me with caution. It hits me that I’m making him nervous.

“Because I was pretty sure,” he answers, watching me. “But I wasn’t positive.”

I could scream—I want to, desperately.Say more! Make me understand!Instead, I force my head into a nod.

“It didn’t click right away,” Patrick says. “I knew they’d talked. I knew how she could be—all the senior girls, I mean. I was a freshman once; it’s like torture.”

I file this away, afraid to interrupt.

“I never found out what she said to him,” Patrick adds. “But I saw him at the cloakroom after, all fucked up about it.”

“What do you mean?” I interject, unable to stop myself. “What did he say?”

Patrick turns his palms out, shrugging.

“Nothing, really. He just had that look, like he was going to set the place on fire. Definitely wanted to setmeon fire. I was like, ‘Oh hey, what’re you doing here anyway?’ And he lost his shit. Called me an asshole or something.” Patrick’s eyes go distant. “I didn’t even remember at first. Not for weeks. They’d already closed the case.”

“That doesn’t matter. You still could have reported him.”

Patrick nods, solemn and deliberate. He looks like his father now—like a politician who’s been through this issue a hundred times, repeating his official stance.

“I wasn’t positive—not a hundred percent. And you don’t go calling someone a killer unless you’re sure.” Patrick glances at me again. “At least I don’t.”

“But you must have known she didn’t drown,” I press. “She wasn’t that drunk—you knew that. You were with her practically the whole night.”

Patrick’s gaze shifts downward, considering.

“Not the whole night,” he says at last. “I was also—”

He leans back against the sink.