“I swear time goes slower when you keep staring,” Trisha’s sharp voice penetrated through her pity party.
Betty dropped her head into her hands and leaned against the desk. The library was empty. Only one customer in four hours. Why stay open when no one bothered to come anymore?
Or course she shouldn’t think that because this place paid her bills, but seriously.
Trisha’s green gaze bored holes into her skull. Betty pried open an eye, unable to ignore the mile long stare anymore. “Yes?”
Full red lips set into a stern line of disapproval. “Dish. Now.” Trisha planted hands on her hips and tapped her high heeled foot on the carpet. “Who is he, and when did you meet him?”
Hmm… to tell the truth, or not tell the truth, that was the question. Trisha was in a fighting mood, her small hands were balled into tight fists, and a hurt look glinted in the depths of her malachite eyes.
Not truth. Definitely, not truth. Betty stood. “What are you talking about, Trisha?” She pulled a drawer out and rifled through it, pretending to suddenly be in desperate need of a sticky note.
“You are the worst liar in history,” Trisha flattened her hand on the desk, “you know I know, so let’s stop playing, and just tell me. I can’t believe we’ve been best friends for twenty years, and you can’t trust me with this.” Her words were sharp and sliced Betty deep, she winced, knowing she’d been a bad friend.
Betty sighed. “I didn’t tell you because I knew what you’d do.”
“Do what? What can I do when I don’t know anything?” Trisha threw her manicured hands high, shrugging with exaggerated anger.
“I kept him,” Betty whispered, pulling out the yellow sticky note and doodling on the pad, anything to keep from looking up.
“Him?” Trisha questioned, and then sucked in a breath when understanding dawned. “The hottie from the library?”
“Mmm.” Betty bit her lip.
“No you didn’t!” Trisha slapped her arm. “The dude that was all busted up, the French dreamboat that gave me a serious case of--” she stopped talking when Betty glanced sharply at her. Trisha cleared her throat. “That guy?”
Betty rolled her eyes. “Yes, that guy. Now tell me how stupid I am.” She grabbed her throbbing pendant, the thing hadn’t stopped pulsating since the fishing trip yesterday. It was just this side of warm, almost hot against her breast. And she’d noticed in the mirror this morning that it now shone with more threads of purple than red.
“You’re stupid!” Trisha growled. “He could be dangerous.”
“He’s not,” Betty asserted with a swift shake of her head.
“How do you know?” Trisha lowered her voice into a sharp hiss.
The bell above the door pinged as the second customer of the day-- an elderly man-- walked in and headed straight toward the civil war era section.
Betty waited until he was well out of earshot before answering. “I just do, okay.”
When Trisha got really mad, she’d grab her hair and twist it up into a tight bun. The more tight it got, the madder she was. She wound her hair so tight, her eyebrows pulled back. “Next you’re gonna be telling he’s asked for your hand in marriage.” Narrowing flinty eyes she said, “he hasn’t, has he?”
“No. Jeez, Trish, what do you take me for?” Betty gripped the edge of the desk, while her pulse beat a staccato tattoo in her skull.
“Are you sleeping with him?” Trisha asked the question like an accusation, and Betty’s blood boiled, the one percent threatened to rear its ugly head.
The man appeared for a second, glancing at them with a concerned frown before quickly scooting down another isle.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your damn business,” Betty snapped.
“But it is my business!” Trisha pounded her fist, her words ringing like cannon fire in a still forest.
“Keep your voice down,” Betty pleaded, jerking her head in the direction of the book shelves.
Trisha gulped air until her breathing calmed and then smoothed a hand over her blond head. “You want to know why it’s my business, Betty? I’ll tell you why.” She pointed to her chest. “I can sleep with a man, and it’s not personal. It’s fun. I don’t expect more than that, but you can’t. You sleep with a man and you’re in love. And let’s face it, honey, your track record sucks.”
Betty slapped Trisha’s finger off her. “How dare you? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d act all stupid, and crazy, and silly. Look, yeah, it wasn’t the smartest thing to take him home with me, but as I recall it you told me to.”