“I’m assuming it has something to do with Vegas and Braithe.” She sighed, sitting up in bed and frowning.
“You assume correctly. Tara showed up at my house yesterday.”
“I wish she hadn’t done that. You don’t need that type of stress.”
“Braithe is my friend,” Viola said firmly. “I’ve known that woman for eight years. This just isn’t like her. I’d go talk sense into her if I could, at least try to convince her to come home and talk it out with Stephen.”
“Why doesn’t Tara go?” Rainy’s throat was dry, and she grabbed a juice from the minifridge, propping the phone against her shoulder. She didn’t like where the conversation was going.
“She’s prepared to fly back, but Braithe told her not to come. She was pretty firm about it, so sending Tara might make things worse than they already are. Tara isn’t exactly a calming presence to be around.”
Rainy lifted her chin, wishing the next minute away. “Viola...”
“Please, Rainy.”
“I’m not the one to ask. The others know her better.” But even as Rainy finished her sentence, she was doubting it.
“God, Rainy, I know, and I’m sorry. But damn, what is Braithe thinking? I am in shock. Like, did I ever even know her? All kinds of things are lining up in my head right now that I never saw before.”
“Like what?”
“Okay, remember when Grant covered your living room in flowers on your one-year anniversary?”
How could she forget? Four dozen red roses and that did not include the petals carpeting the floor. She didn’t know anyone knew about that night.
“I guess Grant told Stephen his plans, and of course Stephen told Braithe. I distinctly remember her being annoyed. She said it was ridiculous and wasteful. We teased her about being a salty bitch and she laughed it off, saying she was having a bad day, but later I went to the bathroom, and you know how their bedroom is near the guest bath?”
Rainy nodded even though Viola couldn’t see her.
“I could hear her sobbing in her room. I never asked her about it because—well, obviously it was awkward that I overheard it in the first place. It’s just weird, you know?”
Braithe crying in her room after making a couple comments about flowers didn’t really prove anything, but it was nice that Viola was offering her this information.
“When she was texting me,” Viola went on slowly, “she was saying how unhappy she’s been for a long time and that for the first time in her life, she feels like she can breathe. But she’d never ever even hinted at being unhappy before that, so either I’m the worst friend in the world, or she’s the best liar.”
“What’s Stephen going to do?”
They were both quiet as they contemplated that. Rainy swallowed hard. “Maybe she’ll come back when she’s ready.” It was such a callous thing to say, but even as they spoke, she eyed the Ziploc bag from her past, resting on the hotel’s dresser; she hadn’t even started processing that.
Viola agreed. “You’re right, I’m just overly emotional and in hyper-mother mode. I’m going to step off this cause right now and take a bath.”
They hung up and Rainy decided to follow suit and take a shower. The guilt was gnawing at her, but she pushed it away each time. The hot water did little to calm her, and Rainy sat on the bed, wrapped in the hotel robe a few minutes later, staring at her phone.
She tried calling first, but her call was sent to voice mail. She left a short message asking Braithe to call her back, and then she hung up and texted, too.
Braithe, can we talk? It’s about you and Grant.
She felt sick even typing those words. Rainy hated confrontation and she wasn’t good at having friends. The people she’d hung out with in New York had been just as busy and distracted as she was; their meetups had included late-night dinners and gallery parties with people you knew but didn’t really know. She’d liked the simplicity of those shallow relationships: talking about art over seventeen-dollar cocktails, gossiping about a peer’s affair over sushi. No one wanted to know what your daddy issues were or where you were raised. They had been right now friends, and not one of them had contacted her in the year she’d been gone. The response from Braithe didn’t come right away; when it did, Rainy had to read it twice.
Why would you be asking me questions about your husband?
She stared at her phone and read the text again. Was Braithe making a jab at her, at the fact that Rainy and Grant weren’t married? It was confusing. Why would she call Grant her husband? She decided to answer using the same tone. When Rainy hit Send it felt good.
Probably because you’re still in love with him.
She wanted to understand why Braithe had pretended to be her friend and if it had all been a play for Grant. She also wanted to know why she had been stupid enough to fall for it. Hadn’t she learned how to spot disingenuous people by now? She’d certainly had enough therapy to understand what toxic behavior looked like. She was rubbing her forehead when the text came.
You have my attention...
She blinked at the text. “What the fuck,” she said under her breath. This felt like a game, one where she was being baited. She left the phone upside down on the counter and went to make herself a drink. This was nuts. This didn’t feel right or like Braithe. Halfway to the minibar, she changed her mind and picked up her phone, her thumbs moving furiously across the screen.
I don’t just want your attention, she typed. I want an explanation.
She watched the text bubbles appear and disappear; she imagined Braithe typing something angry and then erasing it. In her current state of mind, Braithe clearly didn’t believe she owed her own husband an explanation for her behavior; she definitely wasn’t going to tell Rainy anything. She could push harder.
Tara told me that the whole reason you came to Vegas was to see that psychic to ask about you and Grant. Is she telling me the truth, Braithe? You’re in love with Grant?
It looked like Braithe was composing a novel; the text in progress dots danced on the screen for what felt like ten minutes before her reply lit up Rainy’s screen.
What we had was special and he feels the same way. I can prove it.
She didn’t want to hear from Braithe again, not until she’d had a chance to talk to Grant face-to-face. That was fair, she thought; they’d both been holding back information. She could at least give him the truth about her own past.
She saw that Braithe had texted her again, and she almost deleted it without reading...almost. Curiosity won. Braithe had sent four photos. Letters laid out on a white bedspread.
When Rainy zoomed in, she saw that they were photos of handwritten letters from Grant, or at least his name was signed to them. She wouldn’t read the content. Braithe was trying to bait her. She slammed her phone on the counter and thought about calling Grant; this was nuts, what exactly was she trying to prove?
Those are old letters, she sent back.
Lol. They are. You’re too sharp for your own good, Rainy.
She stared hard at the text, her face contorting as she tried to work out what was bugging her. She’d spent the last year getting to know Braithe, and had never once seen this side of her, or any hint of it. Maybe she was drinking, maybe she was having an emotional breakdown; someone—her family—needed to stage an intervention. She thought about sending a screenshot to Viola, but decided against it. Viola needed to soak up these days softly, not be embroiled in drama. After a few minutes of deliberation, she typed out a text to Braithe and hit Send.
Braithe, you need to talk to Stephen. You need help. Please stop texting me.