“So why did you agree to invite me on the trip? As I recall, you were the one who pushed me that night, hand-holding and all.”

  Tara’s answer didn’t roll off her tongue quite as easily this time. “I didn’t know what was going on—I mean, I knew she’d been pining for Grant for a decade, but when he started dating you, she seemed genuinely happy for him, and things with Stephen were going really well. It wasn’t until after we invited you on the trip that she told me how she really felt.” Tara paused to take a sip of beer and Rainy braced herself for what she was going to say next.

  “She made it seem like a game. We were going to get the scoop on you and Grant. See how serious you really were.”

  “That’s really fucked up.”

  “Yeah.”

  She didn’t say sorry. That was telling.

  “Were the others in on this, too... Viola?”

  Tara’s headshake was emphatic this time. “No, they—we never spoke about that stuff around them. I guess I always felt privileged that she chose me, you know?”

  This version of Tara was a lot different than the one Rainy had come to know. She took in the ruffled, worried, strangely vulnerable woman. She felt nothing but anger.

  “You could have been a decent person. Instead, you connived to gather information from me for Braithe, who is carrying a ten-year torch for my partner and is now planning on leaving her husband because of what a psychic said—and you want me to help you convince her to come back? Why would she listen to me, anyway?”

  “Okay, when you say it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

  “Oh my God, Tara, because it is.” Rainy downed the rest of her warm drink and slammed it on the table next to the phone.

  “Braithe is an adult. The decisions she makes for her marriage and life have nothing to do with us. Even if she is in love with Grant, he’s mine.” Rainy was over it. She wanted to—needed to—get off this call.

  “So you’re just not going to do anything?” Tara’s mouth gaped open unattractively. “What if she, like...commits suicide?”

  “What are you asking me to do? She’s literally plotting to steal my boyfriend.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? Text her, see if she will meet up with you. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. Look, I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but she actually does like you. Respects you. I think on some level she realizes she can’t compete with you for Grant. I mean, I think she knows she messed up big-time.”

  “Does she know you’re telling me all of this?”

  Tara shook her head. “I made the decision, thinking it would help if you spoke to her.”

  “I am the last one Braithe wants to hear from. You have this all wrong.” Rainy released the knot of hair wrapped on the crest of her skull and her hair tumbled down.

  Sturdy, steady Braithe with her marbled brown eyes and sophisticated maturity didn’t seem the type to connive and scheme, but Rainy supposed that was why she’d been able to get away with it.

  “I don’t want anything to do with her, or you, or any of you, ever again,” Rainy said.

  “I should have known,” Tara said, her face red. “People like you tout feminism and claim you give a shit about other women, but in the end you only care about yourself. You’re willing to leave her behind because she didn’t fit your narrative.”

  “That’s such a load of bullshit, Tara. No one helps the person who stabs them in the back!” But Rainy was staring at an empty screen: Tara had hung up on her. A vicious anger was ripping through her, violent and affirming. She paced the small room until she wanted to scream. You don’t have to stay here, she thought. This is Vegas. You can do pretty much anything you want. Grabbing her bag, she headed out of the room.

  21

  Now

  “Why are you being like this?” The hurt in Grant’s eyes was enough to rip the last of her reserve from where she loosely held it. Rainy’s hands made knots in her lap. She stared at the computer’s keyboard instead of the grainy image of him on the screen. They’d barely managed a connection, and now they were fighting.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that the two of you were a thing?”

  “It was a long time ago, Rainy. She’s married to my best friend. And you and I don’t talk about the past—we just don’t.”

  That was fair. She never asked questions because she didn’t want the same asked of her. But something like this seemed like more of a problem: I used to sleep with the woman we see every week.

  “Maybe just a heads-up would have been nice. I’m in your world, Grant. Playing with your people, on your territory. I moved my life to be with you. I’d really appreciate understanding the landscape I’m navigating. I feel like a fool because everyone knows you two were a thing except me.”

  He blinked at her and she could see his frustration, but she didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, he’d sent her to the wolves when he encouraged her to go to Vegas.

  “Did you know she still has feelings for you?”

  The silence was painful, a reminder of how little she belonged in his world. She wanted to ask if he had feelings for Braithe, too, but she was too afraid of his answer. Finally, he spoke, and his voice was low and serious. “She called me.”

  “What? When?”

  He was uncomfortable; she could tell by the way he was shifting around in his seat.

  “Can we talk about this when I get home?”

  “Your ex-girlfriend, your best friend’s wife, calls you in Japan, while you’re there with her husband—and you don’t think that’s important enough to talk about right now?”

  She pressed her lips together so hard she thought she might have a headache for it later.

  “She sounded pretty drunk. At first, I thought she was calling because something happened to you, but she started talking about her feelings.”

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  “Of course, Rainy. I just didn’t think it was the time.”

  She felt bad, she did. He was on the most important trip of his career to date; it wasn’t fair of her to do this now.

  “Look, I get how this looks. I’m sorry,” he said. “Braithe and I dated our senior year of high school. I went to school out east and she and Stephen went to UCLA together. They ended up having more in common than we did.” There was no resentment in his voice, no sadness. “But you need to know that I love you, and only you.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Grant leaned toward the computer until she could no longer see his hotel room, his face filling her screen.

  “Rainy, it’s you for me.”

  She nodded.

  They ended the call and she felt worse than she had before, Grant’s words doing little to soothe her. She was angry and embarrassed, and more than that, she didn’t know if she believed Grant, and that was a whole problem in itself.

  Rainy didn’t go to sleep or even close her eyes; she sat propped in her bed till the early hours of the morning, too afraid of the dreams that would come if she tried.

  She must have drifted off around five in the morning; when she woke, it was only an hour later, and her phone was ringing. Viola.

  “What? Why are you calling so early?”

  “Rude,” said Viola. “That’s the problem with you New Yorkers.”

  Rainy laughed, wishing that were the problem; how simple life would be if her personality was a product of where she lived instead of what had been done to her.

  “You know why I’m calling?”

  “I’m assuming it has something to do with Vegas and Braithe.” She sighed, sitting up in bed and frowning.

  “You assume correctly. Tara showed up at my house yesterday.”

  “I wish she hadn’t done that. You don’t need that type of stress.”

  “Braithe is my friend,” Viola said firmly. “I’ve known that woman for eight years. This just isn’t like her. I’d go talk sense into her if I could, at least try to convince her to come home and talk it out with Stephen.”

  “Why doesn’t Tara go?” Rainy’s throat was dry, and she grabbed a juice from the minifridge, propping the phone against her shoulder. She didn’t like where the conversation was going.

  “She’s prepared to fly back, but Braithe told her not to come. She was pretty firm about it, so sending Tara might make things worse than they already are. Tara isn’t exactly a calming presence to be around.”

  Rainy lifted her chin, wishing the next minute away. “Viola...”

  “Please, Rainy.”

  “I’m not the one to ask. The others know her better.” But even as Rainy finished her sentence, she was doubting it.

  “God, Rainy, I know, and I’m sorry. But damn, what is Braithe thinking? I am in shock. Like, did I ever even know her? All kinds of things are lining up in my head right now that I never saw before.”

  “Like what?”

  “Okay, remember when Grant covered your living room in flowers on your one-year anniversary?”

  How could she forget? Four dozen red roses and that did not include the petals carpeting the floor. She didn’t know anyone knew about that night.

  “I guess Grant told Stephen his plans, and of course Stephen told Braithe. I distinctly remember her being annoyed. She said it was ridiculous and wasteful. We teased her about being a salty bitch and she laughed it off, saying she was having a bad day, but later I went to the bathroom, and you know how their bedroom is near the guest bath?”

  Rainy nodded even though Viola couldn’t see her.

  “I could hear her sobbing in her room. I never asked her about it because—well, obviously it was awkward that I overheard it in the first place. It’s just weird, you know?”

  Braithe crying in her room after making a couple comments about flowers didn’t really prove anything, but it was nice that Viola was offering her this information.

  “When she was texting me,” Viola went on slowly, “she was saying how unhappy she’s been for a long time and that for the first time in her life, she feels like she can breathe. But she’d never ever even hinted at being unhappy before that, so either I’m the worst friend in the world, or she’s the best liar.”

  “What’s Stephen going to do?”

  They were both quiet as they contemplated that. Rainy swallowed hard. “Maybe she’ll come back when she’s ready.” It was such a callous thing to say, but even as they spoke, she eyed the Ziploc bag from her past, resting on the hotel’s dresser; she hadn’t even started processing that.

  Viola agreed. “You’re right, I’m just overly emotional and in hyper-mother mode. I’m going to step off this cause right now and take a bath.”

  They hung up and Rainy decided to follow suit and take a shower. The guilt was gnawing at her, but she pushed it away each time. The hot water did little to calm her, and Rainy sat on the bed, wrapped in the hotel robe a few minutes later, staring at her phone.

  She tried calling first, but her call was sent to voice mail. She left a short message asking Braithe to call her back, and then she hung up and texted, too.

  Braithe, can we talk? It’s about you and Grant.

  She felt sick even typing those words. Rainy hated confrontation and she wasn’t good at having friends. The people she’d hung out with in New York had been just as busy and distracted as she was; their meetups had included late-night dinners and gallery parties with people you knew but didn’t really know. She’d liked the simplicity of those shallow relationships: talking about art over seventeen-dollar cocktails, gossiping about a peer’s affair over sushi. No one wanted to know what your daddy issues were or where you were raised. They had been right now friends, and not one of them had contacted her in the year she’d been gone. The response from Braithe didn’t come right away; when it did, Rainy had to read it twice.

  Why would you be asking me questions about your husband?

  She stared at her phone and read the text again. Was Braithe making a jab at her, at the fact that Rainy and Grant weren’t married? It was confusing. Why would she call Grant her husband? She decided to answer using the same tone. When Rainy hit Send it felt good.

  Probably because you’re still in love with him.

  She wanted to understand why Braithe had pretended to be her friend and if it had all been a play for Grant. She also wanted to know why she had been stupid enough to fall for it. Hadn’t she learned how to spot disingenuous people by now? She’d certainly had enough therapy to understand what toxic behavior looked like. She was rubbing her forehead when the text came.

  You have my attention...

  She blinked at the text. “What the fuck,” she said under her breath. This felt like a game, one where she was being baited. She left the phone upside down on the counter and went to make herself a drink. This was nuts. This didn’t feel right or like Braithe. Halfway to the minibar, she changed her mind and picked up her phone, her thumbs moving furiously across the screen.

  I don’t just want your attention, she typed. I want an explanation.

  She watched the text bubbles appear and disappear; she imagined Braithe typing something angry and then erasing it. In her current state of mind, Braithe clearly didn’t believe she owed her own husband an explanation for her behavior; she definitely wasn’t going to tell Rainy anything. She could push harder.

  Tara told me that the whole reason you came to Vegas was to see that psychic to ask about you and Grant. Is she telling me the truth, Braithe? You’re in love with Grant?

  It looked like Braithe was composing a novel; the text in progress dots danced on the screen for what felt like ten minutes before her reply lit up Rainy’s screen.

  What we had was special and he feels the same way. I can prove it.

  She didn’t want to hear from Braithe again, not until she’d had a chance to talk to Grant face-to-face. That was fair, she thought; they’d both been holding back information. She could at least give him the truth about her own past.

  She saw that Braithe had texted her again, and she almost deleted it without reading...almost. Curiosity won. Braithe had sent four photos. Letters laid out on a white bedspread.

  When Rainy zoomed in, she saw that they were photos of handwritten letters from Grant, or at least his name was signed to them. She wouldn’t read the content. Braithe was trying to bait her. She slammed her phone on the counter and thought about calling Grant; this was nuts, what exactly was she trying to prove?

  Those are old letters, she sent back.

  Lol. They are. You’re too sharp for your own good, Rainy.

  She stared hard at the text, her face contorting as she tried to work out what was bugging her. She’d spent the last year getting to know Braithe, and had never once seen this side of her, or any hint of it. Maybe she was drinking, maybe she was having an emotional breakdown; someone—her family—needed to stage an intervention. She thought about sending a screenshot to Viola, but decided against it. Viola needed to soak up these days softly, not be embroiled in drama. After a few minutes of deliberation, she typed out a text to Braithe and hit Send.

  Braithe, you need to talk to Stephen. You need help. Please stop texting me.

  There. And she could always block her number if she didn’t. Ticking behind her eyes was the start of a headache that promised to hit hard.

  She put her phone down, stepped away. Rainy tried to bring herself back to the present, to the problem, to the people involved—but the past was an oily, gelatinous thing rotting in the periphery of her mind. She purposefully lived in places that gave her no muscle memory for that place: first the city and then the forest. This is your fault, she told herself. You went back there and opened a door for the demons to sneak back in. But she didn’t believe that. Or did she? She was still staring at the phone when she heard the ping of a message received. She didn’t even need to open it to see what it said.

  This isn’t Braithe.

  22

  Now

  Stop playing games. Who is this?

  She waited five minutes...ten. The dots had disappeared; Rainy was pacing in front of the window, chewing the inside of her cheek.

  “This isn’t real,” she said to no one. She hit the call button; it rang twice before Braithe’s soothing voice told her to leave a message. She tried Grant and Stephen next; neither of them picked up.

  She stared at the ceiling. She could find Braithe’s family on social media—she had a sister she spoke about—and tell them what? She couldn’t out whatever this was to Braithe’s family if she hadn’t even told her own husband.

  “I have to call Tara back,” she said aloud. “Oh my God.” She hit the call button before she could change her mind and waited. Tara’s voice was curt when she answered; Rainy could hear a buzz of noise behind her.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, it’s Rainy. Do you have a minute to talk? It’s about Braithe.”

  “Hold on,” Tara said.

  She heard muffled voices, and then, seconds later, Tara spoke so loudly Rainy jerked her head back from the receiver.

  “What is it, Rainy? I’m out with Mike and I only have a few minutes.”

  Okay...how exactly was she supposed to sum this up in a few minutes? God, Tara was a pain in the ass.

  “Braithe is being weird—and I don’t think it’s Braithe.”

  Tara cut in. “You don’t have to tell me, okay—she actually had the audacity to threaten me. Like, I am over it. Done.”

  “Wait—what do you mean, she threatened you?”

  She heard Tara say, “Shit, shit, shit—sorry. Hold on—”

  Rainy switched her phone from one ear to the other.

  “I did something a few years ago,” Tara said. “I don’t want to get into it, but Braithe sent me screenshots and basically told me that if I got involved in this, she was going to...share them.” She sounded scared now. “That would, like, ruin my life. She’s such a bitch.”