Even though this had freed up some time for both him and Birdie, he hadn’t put any of those extra moments into Birdie’s writing. Instead, he had buried himself in his social life both inside the church and the university. Tonight, he was hosting one of his famous parties.
It was on this night, though, that they truly became infamous.
Birdie watched as Tom flirted with three of his students. He perched on the old writing desk that he’d told her had belonged to his grandfather and hovered over them like a vulture. She wondered if any of them knew what easy prey they would make for someone like Tom. The thought beckoned another—Ione. She thought of her old friend—she hadn’t in a while—and she longed to know if Ione had known what an easy mark she’d been for Tom from the beginning.
She didn’t think so.
Ione had been in love with Tom, Birdie was sure of it. Sometimes she had her doubts about how Tom had felt about Ione. But then there would be moments. Moments when Birdie would bring her up and Tom would banish the subject swift as a hammer driving a nail home. In the second just before he changed the subject, Birdie saw the truth in his eyes. He longed for her friend just as much as she did, if in a different way.
Tonight, she had whiskey in her hand. Ione’s favorite drink. She wondered where Ione was this evening. What was she doing? Who was she doing it with? And she wondered if Ione ever wondered the same things about her.
She had her doubts.
She ached over the loss of that friendship. She’d tried with other people and it felt hollow. The intensity of the connection she’d had with Ione had startled her, like a pair of chest paddles raising her from clinical death. The fact that she could feel anything at all after the tremendous losses she had suffered just before starting college floored her.
In many ways, Ione had done for Birdie what a first love does for other people. She’d become the yardstick by which Birdie would measure all other friendships. And she’d been dismayed to discover that everyone came up wanting.
It was with this hollow feeling that she watched Tom with those three girls.
He was a master of presentation, showing only what he wanted to be seen. Like a magician, his words were verbal sleight of hand. Smoke and mirrors in wordplay allowed him to glide right into the situations he wanted to be part of. And tonight, that happened to be right where he found himself: the center of three twenty-somethings’ attention.
Birdie remembered reading something once about how our losses magnify what we really are. And she knew that was true for Tom. The loss of Ione hadn’t changed him. It had amplified him.
If he had been charming and charismatic before, he had multiplied the qualities tenfold. She could see it in the way that the people at the church flocked to him like some kind of modern-day messiah. And with the coming publication of Brother Martin’s words with Tom’s name slapped on them, she could only imagine the number of those people proliferating.
The thought was frightening, but the fear that Birdie felt over it was eclipsed by the lure of the power that would come. Not just to Tom, but to her. That was intoxicating to think about.
For so long, women had become accustomed to being next to power. And for so long, they had settled for it. Wives of politicians and rock stars. But Birdie saw in this an opportunity not to just be next to it, but to become it. She felt that she had situated herself perfectly for the coming shift in all of Tom’s other relationships. Even if he couldn’t see the book tour and the massive amount of people that would find truth in The Way, she could.
It was never far from her mind—the thought of where this was all going—and tonight was no exception. As she watched Tom with those three girls, she had to ground herself back in the present moment when Nolan stepped up next to her.
“Quite a party,” he sipped from a red Solo cup.
“Aren’t they always?” she mused somewhat more bitterly than she’d intended to.
“Indeed,” Nolan stretched the word out like a cat’s arching back, seeming to savor his drink and the uncomfortable tension between the two of them.
“What do you want, Nolan?” Birdie asked.
Their collegial relationship had become strained in the months since Birdie had been awarded the fellowship. It seemed to be that way with all of her former fellow students. In the moment that she’d received the glory of the award, they were all so ecstatic to see the queen—Ione—deposed from her throne that they celebrated with Birdie. But in the time since then, they’d found a new target for their envy.
“Easy, tiger,” he said. “Just wanted to chat.”
Birdie turned to face him.
“I find it interesting that you still come to these parties,” Birdie said. “After you had to drop out last semester due to, what was it, stress?”
Nolan bristled against her statement. She was getting to him, which was what she wanted.
“Didn’t you black out at the last one of these you attended?” she asked, her words an ice pick driven into the center of his insecurities.
“At least I’m not wasting the best years of my life as a lackey for a has-been,” Nolan spat, turning on his heel and joining some other students in the kitchen.
Birdie’s venom had driven him away, just as it had so many people over the last year. She was like a cornered animal against all the hate that everyone felt for her—their envy was overwhelming. It was shocking to
