"Yeah," I said, sighing. "Just . . . well, remember that night I said I was going to meet you at the art exhibit?"
"The one by the German? Yeah, I remember being pissed off at you, and even more when I found out that you were at the dinner for Greg DeKalb, of all people. But you told me you got hung up on some stuff. Why, what's up?"
"Well, I tried to walk to the gallery," I said, and Shawnie held up her hand, shocked.
"You did what? Abby, Atlanta might be safer than it was a few years ago, and this certainly isn't Freak Week, but are you out of your damn mind, girl? And you're a native of this area. What were you thinking?"
I smiled and took a sip of my own Coke, reaching for a slice of the medium pizza we were sharing. "Careful, Shawnie. Your Sandhills drawl comes through more when you get all worked up. But, as I was saying, I tried to walk. I ran into some trouble, and before you say anything, I know I was being stupid. But I got some help, and the guy who helped me . . . I’m just having problems getting him out of my head."
"Ooh, I see," Shawnie said. "Tell me, was he cute?"
"He was." I nodded. “A little different from the type I normally go for. Maybe that’s the attraction.”
"So why haven't I been introduced to him? Afraid I'll try and take him from you?"
I was about to answer when my phone buzzed. I picked it up off the table and grimaced when I saw the number. It was Dane, and while he wasn't exactly pestering me with phone calls, he had called me a few times in the three weeks since we'd spent that night together. I hoped he'd have given up, because every time he called, I was almost guaranteed to dream about him that night. I hit the red call rejection button and set my phone down. "Because sometimes guys aren't what they seem to be.”
Shawnie looked at my phone, then up at me, and sat back, tenting her fingers under her chin in the way that told me she was being perceptive. For a girl who was in school for engineering, she had a deep psychological streak that could either be helpful or frustrating, depending on the situation. "Really? And without going into too many details, since I can tell you don't want me to know exactly who this mystery man is, what is it about him that has you so worked up?”
I sighed and shook my head, confused. "Shawnie, it's just that . . . I thought he was a good man. But, how can a good man have done terrible things? I mean, he's been in prison."
Shawnie tilted her head, smirked, and shrugged. "You mind if I tell you something?"
"You know you can say anything to me. You're my best friend."
"Abby, you come from upper crust society. Atlanta upper crust at that, which makes even Charleston look downright Hicksville. I'm from parts of South Carolina where a lot of the folks I graduated high school with, their greatest goal in life was to get a job at the DuPont factory down the road and buy themselves a new Chevy pickup. Guys I used to date, the pinnacle of their entire lives will be the two years they played varsity football for the local high school. I guess what I'm saying is, you grew up somewhat protected. Now, I'm not saying you're prejudiced, no more than I am, but you never faced the choices that some of the people I knew had to face."
"I know," I said, thinking of some of the discussions she and I had shared over the years we'd been friends. "It's kind of what makes you special. You're also one of the few people I know who doesn't try to kiss my butt or hold it against me that I am who I am."
"You can't help it, just like I can't help being fine as May wine," she said with a laugh. "But what I'm trying to say is, there are times when good people either just make stupid mistakes or are forced into bad situations. Did you know, my graduating class's salutatorian is doing ten years at the Broad River Correctional facility back home?"