“Then she should come talk to us. You can come too if she wants—”
“He’s a he, and there’s no way he’s going to come talk to you about his problem.”
“That’s fine, but—”
“It’s not like you’re doing anything else,” she says. “I’m not asking you to solve his problem. I want to talk about how I can help him.”
Sarah doesn’t reply and I wonder what her expression is. I say to her, “It’s fine. I’d rather spend the next ten minutes talking about that than about why we can’t. Go ahead, Trish.”
“Okay, my friend Frank, he—”
“Frank?” I ask. “Is that a fake name?”
“Nope, his name’s Frank, swear to God. You can’t think you know everyone from Jefferson already?”
“No,” Sarah says with her flat voice, still miffed I guess that we’re even having this conversation.
“Frank was going with Bibi and then they broke up. Now she’s sniffing around again and I’m worried he’s going to get back with her.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask. “If they want to?”
“That’s the thing. Bibi broke up with him and treated him like shit the way it happened. It really wiped him out. But I guess she can’t find anything better so now she’s talking sweet and I don’t want him to get hurt again. He says it’s over but I don’t know. He’s really sensitive and I’m afraid he’ll fall back into her trap again.”
“Are you in love with him?” Sarah asks a bit sharply, not with her usual sympathy.
“We’re just friends.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
That’s even more harsh for Sarah. Maybe she’s also reacting to Trish’s loud, raspy, softball-team voice, except it’s not like her to let this kind of thing show.
“I’m not in love with him, okay? Happy? It’s possible to be good friends with a guy without wanting to have his baby. Or didn’t you know that?”
“Totally,” I say in my calming voice, marveling over this role reversal between Sarah and me. “What makes you think he can’t go into it slowly this time, keeping his eyes open? To see if she can earn his trust again?”
“In a perfect world, sure, but this Bibi, I don’t actually know her but she has a reputation for being a real bitch. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard she says. It’s like she’s willing to say anything and I can totally see her telling Frank exactly what he wants to hear. So there’s trust and there’s blind trust if you know what I mean, no offense.”
I smile—it’s all cool—though she is starting to wear me out, considering how little I had to start with.
“There’s no halfway with Frank, there is no slowly. If he decides to get back with her, he’ll jump all in.”
I wait to let Sarah have a turn, but she doesn’t take it. I say, “I don’t think you’ll like this but there’s really nothing you can do. It’s up to him.”
“I figured you’d say something like that but what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t try? I can’t tell him what to do but maybe talking to Bibi, you know, if I warn her off, that could work. Maybe she’ll back off and leave him alone if she knows she’s not going to have an easy time, that I’ll do whatever it takes to expose who she really is and what she’s doing, to crush her.”
“Crush her? How? Beat her up? Break a beer bottle over her head?”
“Maybe. If that’s what it takes.”
“Uh…” I’m not sure where to go next. Sarah and I have had plenty of weird ones, but this one’s definitely Top Ten.
“I think we’re done,” Sarah says, using her we’re-definitely-done voice.
“No…” I say. “Before we wrap things up I’d like to say for the record that going after somebody with a bottle is not just a bad idea, it’s fucking insane, pardon my French. And it’s not protecting your friend, it’s more like you being in love with him and not admitting it.”
“That’s the point, Parker. Nobody’s in love with anybody in this story. And that’s how it’s going to stay. Understand?”
“We get it,” Sarah says.
“I don’t get it. Is this real or bullshit? Is there really a Frank or are you screwing with us?”
Sarah puts her hand on my wrist.
“Oh, it’s real, I promise you,” Trish says, her voice closer. “His name’s really—well, it’s Francis—Frank’s just a nickname—but it’s his middle name—not many people know it.”
My skin tightens down my neck and I finally see what Sarah must have figured out long ago, that Trish is talking about Scott Francis Kilpatrick. I know his middle name of course, it just seldom came up unless I was teasing him.
“Get it now, Bibi?”
“I’m Bibi?” My muscles clench, remembering the beer bottle. “That’s a made-up name for me?”
“It’s not a name… Oh, you mean like Bibi? No, it’s B.B., like BB gun. They’re initials. Your initials. The second B stands for Bitch. I’ll let you figure out what the first B stands for, and it doesn’t have the word fold in it.”