The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,19

eyes still focused on the woman across the bar.

Bennett looked from me to Elyse before answering. “Keira,” he said.

I’d made a mistake. These were things I should’ve asked. Back then. Right now. Jonah was probably the main reason we’d never discussed relationships. I avoided the topic; it was supposed to be a secret.

I’d thought I knew enough about Bennett’s life to matter: that he was single; that he was the youngest of five and had grown up in south Charlotte and moved away because, in his words, his siblings cast a long shadow; that he became a different person when he wasn’t working.

But these were all surface things. Not: Did she hurt you, do you miss her, why are you out with me tonight—for this?

That was the danger. If you didn’t want someone to pry into your past, you had to keep out of theirs.

“Is she coming back?” I asked.

He shook his head once, never taking his eyes off her. “She’s visiting her old roommates. She’s getting married. They’re going to be her bridesmaids.”

I could hear it then, the pain in his voice. All the things she must’ve been for him.

I felt just like I had in Cal’s office, sitting across from him as a collection of flaws. Of course Bennett’s attraction did not extend my way. Of course not. Not after her.

He’d broken up with her right before I’d arrived. There must’ve been gossip—I knew what the hospital could get like. It must’ve been awkward. Maybe he was looking for a new group; people who didn’t know them as a couple, who wouldn’t pick sides in the aftermath. Maybe that was why he sought me out—a friendship of convenience.

He turned on his stool, facing me, knees bumping mine. “Is it more awkward if I go say hi or pretend I don’t see them?”

“You should go say hi,” I said. I took a long drink, swallowing too fast, feeling like something was lodged in my throat.

He gave me a small smile, took his beer, didn’t look back. She smiled at him as he approached, gave him a one-armed hug. Her friends opened their circle, and he stepped inside. And after, he didn’t leave. Joining their conversation. Laughing. Doing a really excellent job pretending to be happy for her, if she’d truly hurt him that badly.

I turned to Elyse, but she was whispering something across the bar to Trevor. He shook his head, laughing. Then he took her hand and wrote something on her palm in black pen as she smiled.

The laughter behind me was too loud. The band started playing, and I couldn’t even hear myself think. Someone nearby was smoking, or had smoked outside and their clothes now reeked of it.

“I’m gonna go,” I called, leaning toward Elyse’s shoulder.

She looked me over slowly, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good.” I left cash on the bar top, more than enough to cover my drink.

Everything was off. The light, the sound, the taste of my drink—lemon-tinted, like something had soured. I felt ungrounded in the moment, caught off guard by all the things I’d gotten wrong. Elyse looked to Trevor, then back to me, as if weighing her choices.

“Stay, I’m fine. But I should probably head home.”

“Call me tomorrow?” she said, hand on my arm, but if I hadn’t been reading her lips, I would’ve missed it. Even her skin felt too hot, and I had to stop myself from pulling away too fast before leaving.

I’D HAD TO PARK on the grassy embankment outside of the lot, due to the overflow of cars. The parking lot and the surrounding streets were well lit. But when I took the turn forking off from the town center, the roads became darker, and there were glimpses of the town that existed before. The winding streets where the pavement faded and crumbled; and an old gas station, abandoned, the tall grass growing wild, cracks in the lot, the single pump rising like a husk—the first sign of the apocalypse.

I had to take my street slow as it meandered through the woods, unlit but for the houses set farther back from the road. There could be deer around any curve. I’d seen the damage that could do, and not just to a car.

The entrance to my driveway was hard to make out in the night—just the shadow of my mailbox beside Rick’s. As I turned in, I could see the lantern from Rick’s front porch through the trees. Mine remained dark. I’d either forgotten it in