Page 145 of The Bodyguard

What was the upside of looking like her if somebody who looked like me could—in semblance if not in fact—convince Jack Stapleton to cheat on you? I got it. It violated the natural order of things.

“It was all a misunderstanding,” I said.

“But that’s my point!” Kennedy said, her voice louder now. “How could that misunderstanding even happen? Right? I mean, come on. That’s the rude part. That anybody could think Jack would choose a”—and here she studied me, trying to find the words—“plain, ordinary, totally average person over me!” Her eyes looked a little wild, if I’m honest. “Right?” She looked around the crowd. “Right? It’s preposterous!” She turned her eyes in my direction for a second, like she was looking at a bug. “Because what is the point of being me if the whole world can so easily believe Jack Stapleton would pick you?” She turned back to the crowd. “Seriously! Show of hands. Who in this crowd would pick this girl over me? Who? For real! Is there anybody? This is a serious question! I really need to know. Let’s see! Anybody? Would even one person here do that?”

And then she fell quiet.

And so did the crowd.

And as much as I did get that she’d felt humiliated by the photos online and so now she wanted to humiliate me back—I was also so horrified by the scene that was unfurling around me that I froze. The obvious way to shut it all down would’ve been for me to leave. Just walk away. Right? I didn’t have to just stand there and endure a beauty contest I’d never entered against someone I’d just seen on the cover of Vogue.

Time to walk away.

And yet: I couldn’t move. I was immobilized by horror.

And so was the rest of the crowd, from what I could tell.

Everybody just stared—gaped—at Kennedy Monroe as she stood there, aflame with righteous indignation. She waited. She gave it plenty of time. An epoch went by—or maybe it was just a few seconds. But she made sure, in slo-mo, that no one could deny the results.

Then, in what should have been the kill shot, she said, “Last call! We’re doing this! Who in this crowd picks her over me?”

And that’s when Jack raised his hand. “I do,” he said. Then he added, “In a heartbeat.”

I was frozen too tight to feel any relief.

Then he turned and met my eyes, his expression soft. “I absolutely do.”

And as soon as he’d broken the surface tension, another hand went up: Hank’s. “So do I.”

And then, in a beautiful cascade, everybody else joined in—stepping forward and raising their hands: Amadi, then Glenn, then Kelly, then—after an elbow to the ribs from her—Doghouse. A chorus of “I do,” “So do I,” “Me, too,” and “Team Hannah” rose up. Even Doc and Connie jumped in, waving their arms to make sure their votes counted.

Folks put their hands up and kept them there—until, at last, Jack looked around and made the call: “Unanimous.”

Kennedy’s expression sank into a simmering pout.

And in response to that, Jack leveled his gaze at her. “You know what that means, right?”

She frowned at him.

Jack gave a little shrug. “Time to leave this party to the folks who were actually invited. And time for you to get the hell out.”

I HAVE TOhand it to homemade moonshine.

It’s a very relaxing drink.

Poisonous, but relaxing.

Connie was delighted to find out that I’d accidentally gotten a little tipsy and would have to stay the night. “Jack can lend you a T-shirt to sleep in. And we’ll put Jack on the sofa and put you in his room,” she said, patting me on the knee. Then she added, “Unless you prefer the tile floor for old times’ sake.”

“No, thank you,” I said.

“You were happy there before,” Jack said.

“It was my job to be happy there before.”

One by one, the friends and neighbors left, and the elder Stapletons went on to bed.

Jack and I wound up out under the night sky watching the fire burn down. The two of us together. Just like old times.