Chapter 1 Audrey #3
Jasmine waits a beat, but Beck is silent. “Well,” Jasmine says, “I’m truly sorry. Like you, Audrey, I’ve thought a million times about that night and how I could’ve done better. Beck, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry to all of you, especially you, Audrey. I . . . I hope you’ll forgive me.”
The words are simple and sincere. I swallow the lump in my throat and smile at her through my tears. I’m not sobbing yet, but I can’t rule it out.
Beck glances at Jasmine, gives a nod, then rubs her leg again. “My turn, apparently.” Beck was probably the person least at fault for the accident. The only one who hadn’t had alcohol or weed or anything else that night. “I mean, yeah, I was rowdy, I remember that.”
“You were singing along with the radio,” I say. “Pretending to be Christina Aguilera.” Beck did love to sing, always grabbing the DJ’s microphone at a dance, goofing around at an assembly. The memory almost makes me smile.
Beck’s face flushes. “Yeah. So maybe I did distract you, Jasmine. Actually, I know I did. I’m sorry for whatever role I played.
Not a good babysitter, not a good passenger.
And I couldn’t step up and be the driver since I didn’t have my license.
Never thought it would cause . . . everything. I am sorry. Really.”
Jasmine reaches over and squeezes Beck’s hand, and Beck gives a grateful look, then takes her hand back and picks up her wineglass.
Now it’s Micah’s turn, if she’ll take it. She looks like someone is ramming a broomstick through her stomach. She clears her throat, tries to speak, fails. Her face is white.
“Do you want to say something, Micah?” Beck asks, her voice bitter.
“I think we all know I’m the one to blame,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.
The cat leaves her lap as if disgusted. Cats are good at that.
“Audrey,” Micah chokes out, “it was my fault. I was the designated driver, and I got completely shit-faced.” She looks at me, then at Beck, whose face looks carved in stone.
“I’m so, so sorry. I had just found out I was pregnant, and I told James, and he .
. . Anyway, I thought the best thing to do was guzzle some vodka.
I was an idiot, and it’s my fault Beck’s leg got mangled and .
. . and . . . God, I am so, so sorry about your mom, Audrey.
” She bursts into tears and puts her hands into her hair.
Ugly-crying loud, ragged sobs. “I hate myself for what I did to you all,” she says, her voice strangled.
“Audrey, I loved your mom so much. I’m sorry.
I’m so, so sorry.” She doubles over from the weight of it.
I can’t let her sit there like that. I go to her, wrap my arms around her and rest my head on her shoulder. Sobs shudder through her, and she grips my arms hard. Gracie leaps up to join the hug, trying to stick her nose between us.
“I forgive you,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to,” Micah manages, but she doesn’t let go of me.
“I do have to, actually.” I sit up and take Micah’s hand.
It’s rough from all the work she does in the bakery—all the handwashing, all the dishes.
“I want to, and I need to.” I take a big breath.
“Beck? Do you think you could also forgive Micah? And me, and Jasmine? Because after Mom, you were hurt the worst.”
Beck is quiet a moment, staring at her wine.
Then she looks up, right into Micah’s eyes.
“Yeah. Sure. I know you didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to any of us, Micah.
Or you, Jasmine, and certainly not you, Auds.
It was . . . what do you call it? The butterfly effect.
You got high, Micah got drunk, Jasmine had never driven stick before, and I was being Christina Aguilera.
None of us meant any harm.” She swallows, her eyes growing wet.
“The worst part was losing Dr. Kate, because, Auds, she was the absolute best.”
I close my eyes for a minute, tears slipping down my cheeks. “She was. She was the best.” I sob a little then, and this time, Micah puts her arm around me.
“To your mom, Audrey,” Beck says, picking up her wineglass. “To Dr. Kate.”
“To Dr. Kate,” we echo, and everyone drinks, then wipes their eyes and blows their noses. It’s a little easier to look at each other now.
“We need sugar, and we need it now,” Micah says. She gets up and goes into the kitchen, returning with the box of cupcakes. I’m suddenly starving and almost moan when I bite into the sweetness.
Maybe, just maybe, the elephant has taken a few steps toward the door. No one is leaving, no one is arguing, no one is clenched with hatred or anger. We’re just . . . here.
Could it be possible? Could we somehow resurrect our friendship and stop dragging this tragedy behind us?
I look at my mom’s picture. She would want us to be close again. Especially now.
“Wine and cupcakes. A perfect combo,” Beck says, already eating a second.
“For what it’s worth,” Jasmine says, her eyes shiny, “I’ve never had friends like you three since. You were irreplaceable.”
“Same,” Micah admits. “I mean, I have friends, but there’s never been anything like the four of us.”
“Truth,” Beck says.
“Same here,” I say. “I have nice people, but you . . . you were my sisters.”
Micah sobs, a few crumbs spewing out, and we laugh a little. Sisters. Yes. Once, I loved them almost as much as I loved Stephen. I would have taken a bullet for them.
I’ve missed them so much. Twenty-five years, gone, never to be given back. But we’re here, and we have now.
“Audrey,” Jasmine says, now that things have settled down a little, “you still have to tell us about your life. You moved back here, obviously, but what else?”
Ah, yes. Here comes the moment. “Right,” I say. “Well. I married Clay, who never got over his first wife. I’ve got a stepdaughter who’s hated me every minute of every day since we met. And . . . grand finale . . . I have early-onset dementia and plan on killing myself before it gets too bad.”
The three of them freeze, their eyes wide.
“Sorry,” I say. “Was that a buzzkill?”