Sarah
Iguide Katie into the passenger seat and buckle her in because she doesn’t even seem to notice the seatbelt.
She keeps dialing his number over and over, and each time it rings out, she hits call again, her thumb moving automatically like if she stops, something worse will happen.
When it goes to voicemail again, she lowers the phone into her lap and stares straight ahead, not blinking or moving.
“Sweetie,” I say gently, pulling out of the lot, “he’s not answering?”
She shakes her head. “He told me he had to work late tonight,” she says, her voice flat, distant. “He probably doesn’t have his phone on him.”
“Will he be at his house?”
“He’s in San Francisco.”
“Why don’t you come to my house then? We can call him there.”
She shakes her head. “No. He’ll come home.”
She cried the entire way out of the bar, but now there’s nothing, no tears, no sound, no reaction, just that empty stare.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she snaps.
“Okay,” I say, calmly.
She knew this was coming. We all did. With her mom’s condition, it was always a possibility, just not like this, not this soon. She was only sixty, and Katie thought she had more time.
“Sweetie, do you have his address?”
“What?” She looks at me.
“I don’t know how to get there. I’ve never been to his house.”
“Oh,” she says. “Give me your phone. I’ll put it in.”
I hand it over, and she types in the address before setting it back in my console and turning to stare out the window.
I’ve known Katie for six years. We met freshman year of college when we ended up as dorm roommates, and she’s always been the strongest person I know. Right now, she looks small. She looks fragile.
I keep driving for a few minutes, but something doesn’t sit right. My hands tighten on the wheel before I finally turn into a gas station and kill the engine.
Katie looks around. “What are we doing?”
“You’re sure you want to go to Michael’s?” I ask, glancing over at her.
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Why would you even ask that?”
She’s staring at me now, her face a mix of grief and something dangerously close to anger.
“Katie,” I say, keeping my voice even, “you’re my best friend. Your mom just died.”
“I know that!” she retorts, her voice breaking.
“You’ve known Michael what, a month?”
“So?” she says, eyes flashing. “What the fuck are you trying to say, Sarah?”
“You’ve barely known him long enough for him to be your boyfriend,” I say.
Katie flinches, her face tightening as her eyes fill with tears.
“You’re one to talk. You’re at Luca’s house all the time. Don’t act like you and him aren’t as serious as Michael and I are.”
She has fire in her eyes.
“Katie, it’s not the same thing, and I think you know it.”
“If you won’t take me there, I’ll call someone who will,” she says, her voice quieter now as she turns forward.
“Katie,” I say, reaching for her hand.
She pulls away. “Don’t.”
I stop trying.
“Okay,” I say.
I sit there for a moment before starting the car and pulling back onto the highway. The GPS fills the silence for the rest of the drive. When we turn into the long drive, I focus on the road. At the gate, a man steps forward.
“Name?”
“I have Katie Miller with me.”
He leans down, looking at her. Katie meets his eyes, and his expression shifts slightly.
“Miss Miller. We weren’t expecting you.”
She says nothing.
“Something happened,” I tell him. “Can she be let in?”
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Sarah Travis.”
“Give me a second.”
He steps into the gatehouse. I watch him through the glass as he makes a call. A minute later, he comes back out.
“Follow the drive up to the house. Someone will meet you there.”
He taps the hood and steps away. The gate opens, and I ease the car forward. The house comes into view, and my eyes widen. It’s not a house. It’s a museum. What the hell does Michael do? He can’t just be the CEO of a company. There’s no way, but I don’t say anything.
I round the circular drive, and a man in a suit and an older woman in a maid’s outfit are standing there. As I ease the car to stop, Katie looks at me.
“I don’t want you to come in with me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You don’t think I should be here, so go home. I’ll figure the funeral out. I’ll send the details when I know something.”
“Katie,” I say.
“Just go, Sarah.”
The man steps forward and opens her door.
“Miss Miller, good evening.”
“Hi, Sal,” she says, giving him a small smile.
I watch as she walks toward the woman waiting for her, arms already open. Katie steps into them without hesitation. The woman pulls her close, and Katie lets her. Sal leans down toward me.
“Miss Travis. Will you be joining us?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Have a good evening, then.”
He closes the door and steps back, his attention settling on me, waiting. I sit there for a second, expecting Katie to turn around. To look back. To give me something. She doesn’t. She lets the woman guide her inside. I watch as the door closes behind them.
I put the car in gear and pull away. Something in my chest tightens as it sinks in. My best friend chose this over me.