“You choose,” she replied in a hoarse whisper.
“I think…pink.” I smiled. Taking a seat back on her bed, I shook the bottle up before unscrewing the top. I placed a pillow on my lap and Kate placed her right hand on it. As I brushed the first stroke on, I looked down at her index finger to assess the color. “Oh, that looks even prettier on.”
Kate managed an uneasy smile, and her hand began to tremble. “Jillian, there’s something I need to tell you.” She sat up taller in the bed while I continued to paint her nails. “It wasn’t a coincidence that we met.”
“I know. My grandmother used to say some people are just destined to become friends.” I put the brush back into the polish and fanned her nails with my hand.
She shook her head with a renewed vigor that I hadn’t seen her possess in a while. “It’s not like that, but after I got to know you, I’d like to believe it was.”
“What are you talking about?” She wasn’t making sense. The combination of her meds would sometimes jumble her thoughts.
“Please, I need you to just listen to me,” she replied with a sense of urgency.
“Okay.” I put the bottle of nail polish on the nightstand and gave her my full attention.
“I found you in the Facebook group of the tour company we used for our trip.”
“And…” I still wasn’t following.
“You had asked a question about your trip and someone asked you what your dates were because they thought they’d be on the same tour, and you told them.”
“So, you booked those same dates because you wanted to be on my tour? Why?” I creased my eyebrow in confusion. This was all starting to sound like some weird, twisted psychological thriller.
She shook her head. “No…I had looked up your profile a while ago, and then more recently again. It showed me which groups you were in, and I happened to have seen that one and joined, hoping to find out more about you.”
“What?” I shook my head in disbelief, feeling like I was in a remake of Single White Female. “Why did you just randomly look me up on Facebook a while ago?” I was getting seriously freaked out.
“Because I wanted to see if you were really as beautiful as he said…and you were.”
“As who said?” I demanded.
“I knew how much you wanted a child. I knew how caring you were and how if anyone deserved a child it was you. I knew how much you loved him and how much he loved you. He’d always bring you daisies instead of roses, and you’d make his lunch for him every day and write little notes on the napkin.”
My eyes burned, expelling the tears that were pooling inside of them. How did she know this? Was she some sicko who had been stalking me for years? But how would she have known about the notes I’d write to Evan every day on his napkin? Little reminders of how much I loved him. I backed away and she grabbed my hand. “I don’t know—”
“I met Evan three years ago. He did a lot of work with the firm I used to be employed with when he’d come to London.”
My stomach twisted. How could she not have told me this? These past few months I had been fooling myself, thinking we were so close, and the whole time it had been contrived. I wanted to speak so badly, but the words wouldn’t come out. I was too shocked.
“We would all go out together. A group of us from work and Evan would come along when he was in town. He was a great friend.” She raised her eyebrow. “We talked about everything from the loser I was wasting years of my life to Game of Thrones. We were a lot like you and Theo. He told me all about you, and I felt like I knew you through him.”
“Well, no offense, but he never once mentioned you to me,” I said with an edge to my voice.
“There really was no reason to. I was just some girl who he’d have coffee or a drink or two with while he was here on business, and he was just some guy I felt comfortable blabbing all my problems to.” She looked away, and I could tell this story of innocent friendship was about to take a turn. “And then…” She paused.
“And then, what?” I demanded even though I sensed what was coming.
Her eyes flickered with emotion. “One time when he was here…he wasn’t himself. He was making major mistakes with his work and snapping at people he was normally friendly with. I met up for a drink with him, and he told me you had a miscarriage after years of trying to have a baby. He was so sad and scared; he didn’t know how to make you feel better.”
“No…he didn’t tell you that!” I shook my head and shouted. I wanted to throw up. Evan and I were the only two people who knew I was pregnant, and the only two people who knew about the miscarriage. How could he have shared this with her? “I don’t believe you...I want to know how you found all of this out about me. How?” I demanded, wishing now that I was correct in my original theory and she was some crazed stalker.
It was easier than facing the alternative—my husband confided in another woman about our deepest issues and then he slept with her. But hadn’t I done the same? No, this wasn’t the same. Evan was different. I had
