Sean freaking Amity had just walked out of your house. And then he came and opened your door. And he was so sweet, and when he helped you out, I took a few photos because I thought you might want them or something. And then you two went inside, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t come to your door because I didn’t want to intrude. And you’d never mentioned knowing him or meeting him, so I decided I wasn’t going to do anything with the photos. I wasn’t.”
“But you did,” I finally said as the hurt and betrayal latched on to my heart and squeezed.
“I didn’t plan to. I swear I didn’t. But then a couple weeks later, they were offering money to know where he was.”
“So it was about the money?” I asked, my eyes narrowed.
“Yes.”
I got up and paced behind my desk. There wasn’t much space, so I was really just shifting my weight from one foot to the other, my back to her.
“I really needed that money, Libby.” Gemma’s voice sounded small and pitiful.
I turned on her. “Was someone dying?” That was the only thing I could think of that might excuse what she’d done.
“No.”
“THEN WHY?” I yelled. “I thought we were friends!”
“My ex was fighting for custody of Mariah.” A tear streaked down her face.
Mariah was her eight-year-old daughter. A small portion of my indignation fled.
“He has a lot more money than me. He can afford better lawyers.”
It was extraordinarily hard to be angry at someone for fighting for their child. My baby girl chose that moment to push her little foot against the right side of my belly, and I had to rub at the spot to keep it from hurting.
“Gemma,” I said, exasperated, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m so sorry, Libby. I didn’t think they’d be able to identify you. I didn’t tell them where you lived. I didn’t even tell them your name. I didn’t know you had known him in high school. I had no idea there was already an article about you two.” She was crying in earnest now.
I breathed deep through my nose. “Is everything going to be okay with Mariah?”
She nodded.
“Okay.” I sucked down my anger, shoving it into a box. “Can you go now? I need to finish my lunch before my next student gets here.”
More tears welled and overflowed, but she swallowed, nodded and turned to go.
I wasn’t able to eat anything else. My world felt slanted.
Ever since the photo had come out, I’d assumed it was some opportunistic neighbor or teenager, someone who didn’t know me or anything about my life.
The fact that it had been Gemma…it rankled.
I spent the rest of my lunch hour forcing myself to do calming breathing exercises. It worked fairly well. And knowing that the reward money had at least gone toward something worthwhile helped to ease much of the ache.
Still, the betrayal cut deep.
I went through the rest of my lessons, grateful that my last student of the day was a fiery ten-year-old who made me laugh more often than not.
Nick drove me home. Having Nick be my personal chauffeur had been an easy concession to make. After the incident with the reporter, I would have made myself crazy watching my rearview mirror for trailing cars if I’d been the one to drive.
I chewed on Gemma’s confession all the way home and was disappointed when I entered my house to find it empty. I wanted to talk to Sean about what had happened. He would let me scream and be mad and then he would make me feel better.
I walked out the back door, crossing our lawn so that I could knock on his back door, but as I passed his bedroom window I stopped.
“—a great opportunity, Randy, but I can’t do it. Not right now.”
Randy’s voice reached me as well. He was on speaker phone. “Right now is the only time it’s happening, Sean. This benefit concert is the perfect venue for you to come back into the public light and show people you’re still relevant.” I winced at the implication from where I stood leaning against the wall beside his window.
“Still relevant?” Sean’s tone was unconcerned. “I think I’m plenty relevant, thank you very much.”
“Sean, you gotta do this. The longer you’re not performing, the more people are going to move on.”
“Sorry, bud. Not this time.”
“It’s one week. You commit to one week.” Randy made it sound like no big deal. “Are you telling