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A Little Night Magic

Page 3

by March, Lucy


  “Well, maybe stop fooling around on the pool table at Happy Larry’s, and news will stop traveling so fast. Speaking of which, I heard about Amber Dorsey catching you with Frankie Biggs.”

  She raised a brow at me. “Hence, why I have nothing to confess.”

  We took our seats in the living room—Millie on the big pink floral love seat my mother had bought at a flea market when I was seven, Peach on the leather La-Z-Boy I’d gotten a few years back, and me and Stacy together on the key lime couch that matched nothing else in the room. Or the house.

  “So,” I said, reaching for my margarita. “I’ll start.” I took a deep breath. “I’m going backpacking through Europe.”

  “Awesome.” Stacy grabbed her margarita and took a sip.

  “Europe?” Peach crumpled her nose. “Why?”

  Millie gave Peach an exasperated look. “It’s travel. She doesn’t need a reason.”

  Stacy gave a small laugh. “Seriously. A few weeks in Europe can do a lot of good for a girl. Speaking of which, I hear Germans are particularly good in the sack. Bag one and report in, will you?”

  “Actually,” I said, and shot a look at Millie for moral support, who smiled encouragement. “It’s going to be a little longer than a few weeks. A lot longer.” I swallowed my nerves down, and wrung my hands, trying to squeeze that damn tingling away. “I’m not coming back.”

  I looked at Peach, waiting for the explosion lit by the shock of my betrayal. There was none. Instead, she nibbled a bit on her lower lip, her eyes locked on Stacy, who was checking out the nail on her index finger.

  “It’s really about making a big change, and I don’t think I can make that change if I plan to come back.”

  Peach was still eyeing Stacy distractedly, who was eyeing her index fingernail. The only one paying attention to me at all was Millie, and she already knew everything.

  “I promise, I’ll write. I’ll send pictures. We can Skype.” I looked at Peach again, who was still focused on Stacy, and I felt a jolt of annoyance run through me.

  “Peach? Are you even listening to me?”

  Her eyes squinched shut, and I was sure she was going to lay into me when she spit out, “Nick and I are getting married!”

  Stacy looked up casually from her fingernail. “Nick who?”

  Peach blinked. “Nick Easter.”

  Stacy laughed. “My brother? You and my brother?” She thought about it for a moment. “Huh. Liv, you got an emery board?”

  I motioned toward the end table on her side of the couch, and she stretched over to grab the emery board sitting there.

  Peach let out a long breath, and began to ramble. “We’ve been dating for about six months. We didn’t want anyone to know because … well, you know how people in this town are. And it’s been a job of work keeping it secret, let me tell you. Secret dates in Buffalo, weekend ‘business trips’ to Rochester. The whole nine, seriously.” She turned to me. “I’m sorry, but you know I couldn’t tell you, Liv. You can’t keep a secret to save your life, and if Betty found out, the whole town would know, and we just weren’t ready to have the whole town in bed with us, you know? Not until we knew for sure that it was forever and now…” Peach’s face warmed with joy. “Now, we know.”

  “So…” I said carefully to Peach, “you’re not upset that I’m going to Europe?”

  Peach blinked at me. “Europe? Hell, no. I think that’s great. It’s about time you had some fun. I’ll watch the house while you’re gone. When are you coming back again?”

  “She’s not,” Stacy said. “Were you even listening?”

  Peach’s eyes flew wide open. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I just told you,” I said, exasperation seeping into my tone. “I need to make a change, a big one, and if I plan on coming back—”

  “You … you and Nick are getting married?”

  Millie had been so quiet that I think we had all forgotten she was there. She stared at Peach, her eyes wide and, to my surprise, a little wet.

  “Um, yeah,” Peach said, looking at Millie but obviously keeping her feelers out for Stacy’s reaction. “We’ve been together since New Year’s Eve. We both got drunk at Ginny Boyle’s party, and then things kind of … happened.”

  “I know,” Millie said, her face hard as stone.

  “You knew?” Peach said.

  “She’s his secretary,” Stacy said. “The secretary always knows.”

  “I didn’t think it would go anywhere,” Millie said. “I thought it was a distraction. Something temporary. You’re getting married?”

  Peach turned her focus to Stacy. “You don’t mind, do you? I mean, it’s kind of cool, right? We’re going to be sisters!”

  Stacy pulled the file away from her index finger, blew on her nail, tossed the emery board on the end table, then sat back, her eyes on Millie even as she spoke to Peach. “Welcome to the family. Mazel tov.”

  Peach put her hand over her heart. “Oh, thank god! I was so worried you’d be mad.” She grinned at Millie. “It’s such a relief to get it out!” Then she looked at me and said, “Now, what is this crap about not coming back from Europe?”

  “Excuse me,” Millie said, and hopped up from the love seat, rushing out of the room. Peach and I stared after her.

  “What’s up with Millie?” Peach asked.

  “Seriously?” Stacy looked from me to Peach, then back again. “Really, you guys don’t know?”

  Peach’s brow furrowed. “She hasn’t had a boyfriend in ages. Do you think she’s jealous that I’m getting married?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “That’s not like Millie.”

  “She’s in love with Nick, idiots,” Stacy said, her voice low. “Has been since high school.”

  Peach and I went silent, and then I said, “Not possible,” just as Peach said, “Oh, come on.”

  Stacy sat forward, keeping her voice down as she spoke. “With her grades and the money her grandmother left her, Millie should have gone back to the Ivy League mother ship from whence she sprang and made it with some guy who wears corduroy and reads Foucault. Really, do you think being the secretary at Nick’s landscaping business is the best she could have done?”

  Stacy had a point, but I still couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of Millie being in love with Nick Easter. Honestly, it was a little tough to imagine Peach with Nick. He was gruff, bald, and a little schlubby, and he used to shoot at us with his BB gun when we were kids. He’d grown up okay, was basically a good guy, but I wasn’t the kind of girl who forgot welts.

  “No,” Peach said, shaking her head emphatically. “She would have told us.”

  “Oh?” Stacy said, eyeing Peach. “Just like you?”

  I exchanged looks with Peach, and then Millie came back into the room. She had a hard smile etched into her face, and while her eyes were a bit red, she was obviously trying to hide it. She sat down, reached for her margarita, and took a gentle sip, then said, “Liv, these are really good.”

  I glanced from woman to woman, examining the faces, each more tense than the other. So, I did what needed doing—I jammed my elbow into the eight-hundred-pound gorilla sitting between us, and tried to shove it under the carpet.

  “Oh my god, guys, the weirdest thing happened last night at work. This woman came in with a stinky gym sock and she threw it at me and I fell and got knocked out.”

  “Speaking of work,” Stacy said, talking over the last part, “how did Tobias take the news about you leaving?”

  I reached into the bowl for some chips, and dipped one in the pico. “Fine. He’s happy for me.”

  Peach put her margarita glass down on the coffee table. “Wait, Tobias knows? You told Tobias before you told us?” She turned to Millie. “Can you believe that, Mill?”

  Millie shrugged, not meeting Peach’s eye. Peach picked up her margarita glass and took another drink.

  “Of course she told Tobias first,” Stacy said.

  I looked at her. “Y
ou say that like you mean something by it.”

  She raised one brow at me, and those eyes that knew everything dared me to challenge her.

  I looked away. “I’ve told you a thousand times, there’s nothing between me and Tobias.”

  Stacy shrugged. “Right.”

  Peach made a thoughtful sound and said, “Do you think he might be gay?”

  I choked on the chip, and had to down half my margarita to dislodge it.

  “He’s not gay,” Stacy said.

  “Well, has he dated anyone since coming to town? A man like that doesn’t come to a town like this without getting it regular, and I don’t think he has since he got here.” She reached out and gave the arm of the love seat a tentative touch. “What do you think, Mill?”

  Millie didn’t respond, just stared down at her shoes.

  “He’s not gay,” Stacy said.

  Peach pulled her attention from Millie. “No, I think I might be on to something here. I mean, he hangs out with Liv all the time. But he’s never tried to sleep with her. Right, Liv?”

  That one hit me in the gut, but I couldn’t bear telling Peach and Stacy about Tobias and my unrequited love. Not right now. It had been hard enough admitting it to Millie.

  “Nope,” I said, feeling a little sick. “But … you know … just because he doesn’t find me attractive doesn’t mean…”

  “It’s not about being attracted to you or not,” Peach said, getting into her argument. “A guy spends that much time hanging out with a woman, horniness and opportunity are going to overlap eventually. Has he ever even tried to get in your pants?”

  “No,” I said, swallowing hard. “But I may not be his type of woman. Maybe he likes them prettier, or thinner—”

  “Shut up, you’re gorgeous. Any man in the world would have to be gay not to want you.” She grabbed a chip and pointed at me with it, accentuating her argument. “I’m telling you, I think he’s gay.”

  “He’s not gay,” Stacy said again.

  Peach threw her hands up in the air. “How do you know?”

  “Because I slept with him, and I’ve slept with gay men before. Trust me, I know gay. He’s not gay.” Stacy looked at me. “Sorry, Liv.”

  The thing about shock is that it hits in a flash, and even as you’re laughing and saying, “What are you sorry about? I think that’s great!” you know you’re full of shit and that it’s gonna hurt like hell later. My hands, which had finally stopped tingling earlier, started up again, and I shook them out, then turned to Peach.

  “See, I told you he wasn’t gay. He’s been sleeping with Stacy!” My laugh sounded tinny even to my own ears, and I reached for my margarita, hoping the drink would keep me from making noise of any kind.

  “He hasn’t been sleeping with me,” Stacy said. “We have slept together. Totally different.”

  And then a thick blanket of awkwardness fell over us. The three of us went quiet, and Millie, who had been quiet all along, continued to stare into her empty margarita glass.

  “Okay,” I said, slapping my hands down on my knees a little too hard, making the tingly sensation in them even worse. “How about a game of Apples to Apples?”

  Millie stood up. “I think I’m going to go home.”

  Peach stood up, too, her smile extra-sunny, and too tense to be real. “Let me drive you, honey.”

  “It’s just a few blocks. I’ll walk.” And then Millie hurried out, without a single word to the rest of us. We sat there in silence for a while, then Peach picked up her margarita glass, downed the last of it, and refilled it.

  “I’ll bring this back later,” Peach said, and walked out. Thirty seconds later, I heard the front door to her house slam behind her.

  Stacy and I sat stiffly next to each other in silence for a while, and then finally she said, “Well, it’s probably about time for me to go.” She got up from the couch and headed to the door. “I have to go prepare to collect and reassemble Mom’s brains once she hears that Nick’s marrying a Barbie doll.”

  I followed her toward the door, still feeling a little numb. “Okay.”

  She turned to me. “It was a long time ago, Liv. He’d just gotten here, it was before I knew how you felt about him. That’s why I never told you. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t…” I smiled at her, took a deep breath, and said, “There’s nothing between me and Tobias. Really.”

  She gave me a dubious look, then turned and left. I shut the door behind her, leaned back against it, and stared at the ceiling, trying to stop the visuals of Stacy and Tobias, naked and writhing, from running on an endless loop in my head.

  I was unsuccessful.

  So I finished off the plate of Peach’s chili brownies and went to bed.

  *

  “Oh, Livvy, thank god you’re here!” Betty pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose, and looked at me over the frames. “I can’t read this goddamn thing.”

  The place was dead, as I knew it would be between the Sunday lunch and dinner shifts. I sat down at the counter and glanced at the number at the bottom of the invoice. “One thousand, two hundred seventy-nine dollars and forty-eight cents,” I read. I watched as she scribbled the number down in her ledger, then said, “You know, they have computers for that sort of thing now.”

  “I’m seventy-three years old,” she said. “You want to teach me how to use a computer?”

  I handed the invoice back to her. “Game, set, match.”

  She smiled, shut the book, and stuck it under the counter, then leaned over the counter with a glint of glee in her eye. “You’ll never guess who Frankie Biggs is screwing now.”

  “You know what I love about you, Betty? Your complete lack of shame.” I grabbed a menu and glanced at it. I hadn’t come in to eat, and even if I had, I already knew that damn thing by heart, but I was feeling nervous, and it gave me something to do with my hands.

  “I don’t need shame,” Betty said. “I’ve got the goods. But if you don’t want to hear it…”

  “No, I really don’t.” I put the menu down and drummed on it with my fingertips, then shook out my hands, which were still feeling tingly. The sensation kept coming and going, and I figured eventually it would go altogether, but it wasn’t making me feel any better. “Hey, have you ever pinched a nerve? Is it normal for your hands to tingle for a few days afterward?”

  Betty slammed her hand down on the counter. “Dixie Connors!” And then she laughed maniacally.

  “Dixie Connors? My high school English teacher, Dixie Connors?”

  She gave me an exasperated look. “Do we have two? Isn’t that just the best?”

  “It’s unlikely, is what it is,” I said, and shook out my hands. “Who’s your source?”

  Betty straightened up a bit. “I don’t reveal my sources.”

  “You reveal everything,” I said. “Which means it’s Addie Hooper-Higgins, who was also the one who told you Henry Dinks got abducted by aliens. Just because Addie runs a bed-and-breakfast does not make her reliable, you know.” I put the menu back in the holder next to the register and pushed up from the stool, my arms and legs feeling like jelly as the nerves set in. I tried to make my voice casual as I said, “Is Tobias in?”

  She shrugged. “Should be, although he might be taking a break.”

  “I’m gonna go talk to him.” I kept my eye on the door to the kitchen, then pointed a finger at her. “And you stop spreading gossip.”

  “I’m going to hell anyway,” she said as I passed by. “I might as well have fun on the way down.”

  I took a deep breath and pushed through the big metal door into the kitchen. Kenny, the stoner community college kid who did prep during the days, was hulling strawberries at the industrial metal island, his head bopping in rhythm with whatever was playing on his iPod. Tobias stood at the grill, cleaning it off meticulously as he always did during the dead zone between shifts. I stared at the back of his head for a bit, the image of Stacy’s fingers running through his hair zooming
through my head. I shook my hands out again as the tingling got worse, and when I looked up, Tobias was standing with his back to the grill, mild surprise on his face.

  “Hey,” he said. “How’d the Confessional go?”

  “Great,” I said, my voice sounding a little squeaky in my ears. “So, you and Stacy, then?”

  I hadn’t intended on bringing up Stacy. Well, okay, I had, but in my head on the way over, I’d imagined smoothly maneuvering it into the conversation so that it was him who brought it up, in a natural way. And then he would tell me that the sex with her wasn’t any good and he was drunk when it happened, and maybe that she drooled when she slept, and then I would feel better and be able to go to Europe without that stupid hole eating away at my gut the way it had since Stacy dropped the bomb.

  “Me and Stacy?” he said, wariness in his voice. “What about me and Stacy?”

  I shot him a dark look, and he lowered his eyes, then nodded as if coming to some internal decision. He took me by the elbow and led me out through the back hallway to the unadorned cement patio where the deliveries came in. He grabbed the two foldable nylon chairs we kept out there for people on their break and set them out, motioning for me to sit down. I took one seat and he took the other, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.

  “All right, let’s have this out,” he said.

  I sat up straight, trying not to be mad, because I had no right to be mad, but my words came out clipped anyway. “You should have told me.”

  “It wasn’t your business,” he said, his tone simple, but the cut of it hurt too much, and I pushed up from the chair.

  “Okay, then,” I said. “Sorry to have wasted your time.”

  He shot up and grabbed my arm before I could leave. I stood where I was, lacking the energy to wrench myself away, but I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.

  “It’s not your business any more than it’s my business who you sleep with,” he said.

  I met his eye. “Yeah, but I haven’t been sleeping with your best friend.”

  He lowered his eyes. “It was a long time ago. Pretty much, right after I came to town. I bumped into her at Happy Larry’s one night, and we played a little pool—”

 

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