"Why? You fucking ruined my life."
"I highly doubt that. What's theproblem?"
"The problem is that you wrote athree-hundred-page wet dream about me for the entire town to read.You told everyone that I tried to kill myself. You described menaked. You painted me as an amoral harlot." She wrenched her handsaway from his firm grasp and sank down on the step. She put herhead in her hands.
"It's just a book," he said, sinking downbesides her.
"No, it's not."
"Do people not understand the termfiction?"
"Not when it really happened."
"But it didn't. I made the storyup."
"But that’s the thing, Jack. You didn't. Youtook what happened to me, how I was feeling and all I confided inyou that weekend, and you used it for your book. You stalked me.You used Nancy, playing on her insecurities, knowing that you wereleading her on, just to get to me."
"I used enough to make it real. It's stillfiction."
"You used a little too much to make it real. Ican't believe you described the actual clothing I wore. Do yourealize how creepy that is? Do you realize what effect that has hadon my life? I've been totally ostracized. I might as well bewearing a scarlet letter. No one will speak to me, but man, theycertainly speak about me. About how I'm a whore. About how I amconstantly having sex. Doing perverted things. And, if I'm so busydoing all of that, I can't possibly be a good mother. No one willlet their kids play with mine. I have no friends left. My kids haveno friends. Oh, and my husband walked out on me too."
Jack looked astonished. "People are reallythinking that? Don't they understand that it's a made upstory?"
"Apparently not." She paused and waited for himto explain himself. "That's all you have to say? What about theFacebook thing?"
He had a look on his face that was a mix ofpride and surprise. "I just can't believe people who know you wouldreally think you would act like that. I was nervous about writingan adult book. Especially one that was so out there. It wasdefinitely outside my comfort zone. Your Facebook pictures reallyhelped me describe the look of Nellie. I do research like that allthe time on the internet. But if people are giving you a hard timeabout it being true, then it's better than I thought it was. Cool.My agent said it was good, but you never can really believe whatthey say."
Elizabeth turned and looked at him, staring indisbelief. She stood up, shaking her head.
"What?"
"Are you seriously turning this into a bragsession about what a kick-ass writer you are?" She started walkingaway.
"Liza, wait!"
She stopped and turned. Her shoulders sagged.All of the anger had run out of her, and now she was exhausted. Sheslowly sank to her knees, the stiff grass causing a thousand pinpricks on her legs. The anger had sapped her energy. She couldn'teven cry. She was totally drained. Before she knew it, Harold hadcome over and was sticking his wet nose through her hair and intoher face. She weakly lifted a limp hand to his head. Her eyes wereclosed tightly.
Jack approached her, not sure of what to donext. "Why don't you come inside and have a drink?"
Through her hair, she said bitterly, "Why? Areyou looking to write a sequel?"
"No, although ..." he teased.
She looked up. "You can't beserious."
"No, and you're too serious. You used to have asense of humor. Relax. Just come inside for a little while. Ipromise, what happens inside stays between you and me."
She nodded slightly, and he helped her up. Hekept his arm around her waist as he helped her up the stairs andinto the house.
Walking into the house brought all of thememories and feelings crashing back upon her. It was a good thingJack was holding her up, as her knees threatened to give out. Hesteered her towards the large oak table in the kitchen and parkedher on a bench.
"Jack Daniels again?"
"Oh God no. I hate that stuff. I can't believeyou got me to drink that—"she broke off.
Elizabeth sat there, picturing the heavy glasstumbler full of whiskey in her hands. Memories from that weekendcame flooding back. Jack put a beer down in front of her. She tooka long pull. She stared at the amber bottle. It was some kind offancy microbrew that she had never heard of. She stared so long itbecame hard for her to focus. With a glazed look, she finally said,"I told Peter that you had seen me mostly naked when you helped meget undressed. That it was perfectly reasonable, because my handswere frozen and I couldn't do my own clothes."
"That's true. That is when I saw you andnoticed the scars on your back. As you walked down the hall. I justthought they were interesting."
"Funny, when you were helping me, it seemed tome like you were doing your best not to look at me."
"I was."
"I thought you were just like Peter, whodoesn't see me even when I'm standing in front of him."
"A mostly naked woman is pretty hard toignore."
"Any woman?"
"No, not just any woman. Let me rephrasethat. You, standing mostlynaked, are pretty hard to ignore."
She cast her glance downward, unable to stopthe blush from crossing her cheeks. "I told you at Nancy's partythat my memories from the weekend were a little spotty."
"Splotchy, I believe you said."
"I need you to be honest with me, because Idon't remember a lot of what happened."
"Okay, shoot."
"I drank kind of a lot, didn't I?"
"Well, I made you hot cocoa and it made youcry."
"It was the damn marshmallows." She couldn'thelp but smile, just a little bit.
"And then we got into the whiskey."
"Go on."
"You were putting them back prettygood."
"I hate whiskey, especially JackDaniels."
"I know, you kept telling me a story about howyou did six shots in a half-hour when you were a freshman incollege."
"Ugh, it was awful."
"I can only imagine. I remember you back then.You couldn't handle your liquor."
"I got better, but I don't drink that much now,so I don't think I can handle it that well anymore."
"I gathered."
"What
