84. Riley
EIGHTY-FOUR
”It”s not what you think.”Cath licks her lips, clearly unsettled.
”Why were you holding my boyfriend”s hand?” I ask this in a calm, rational tone, even though inside my emotions are a swirl of confusion and anger.
”Riley. I”m sorry. When I woke up, I didn”t know where I was. This house, I was just telling Gabriel. This house is where I first met the man who assaulted me. Gabriel”s family introduced him to my father. This all triggered a nightmare.”
I sigh and allow my eyes to shut. How can I be angry about that? When I open my eyes, Cath is sitting next to me, a look of sadness and fear etched on her tear-stained face.
”I know it”s weird, the relationship I had, or have, with Gabriel. But please don”t think I”m trying to take him from you.” Her eyes are large and dark, shining with what appears to be open, raw honesty.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my bubbling emotions. Cath”s story is not unusual; trauma is everywhere. From physical violence to neglect or emotional abuse, people are no strangers to the experience of trauma—even if they don”t always talk about it as openly and honestly as Cath does.
We all have trauma. Cath”s rape, my abusive and neglectful father, Gabriel”s entire existence. Everything in this world seems to suck, and all we have is each other.
”Trauma”s hard to get over. I know that firsthand,” I say slowly. ”But I also need to know I can trust you. That you”re not my friend to get to Gabriel.”
She reaches for both of my hands and squeezes. ”I promise you, Riley. I”m not trying to get to Gabriel that way. I care about you both, and I don”t want to jeopardize that.” Her voice is low, and fierce.
I take in a deep breath and nod, agreeing to her words. Something in me trusts her, possibly on a different level than I trust even Gabriel. Maybe it”s a female friendship thing, or maybe it”s because I miss Lorna.
Or perhaps its an indication of how alone I am here in Florida, how isolated my life has become.
Gabriel walks in with two steaming mugs of tea and sets them on the table. ”I put sugar in both.”
He watches us as we pick up the mugs and blow on the surface.
”Aren”t you having anything?” I ask.
He shakes his head. ”I snuck a shot of Scotch while I was making the tea. Uh, I was thinking of going back to bed.”
Cath and I wave him off. ”I”ll be up in a while,” I say.
He wanders out and Cath and I take hesitant sips of our tea. She scrunches up her face, and I nearly gag.
”I don”t think he put sugar in,” she says.
”I think it”s...salt?” I sniff my tea.
She takes another sip, then spits it back in the mug. ”Definitely salt. Gah.”
A small snort-laugh leaks out of me, and Catherine begins to chortle. I match her laughter and then we”re both in hysterics, lying back on the sofa and wiping tears from our faces.
”He”s really beautiful and smart but don”t let him near the kitchen,” I whisper, and we crack up even harder.