I shoot him a soured look as I ease into the chair across from him. “It was a blind date. I don’t know why I ever agreed to Lou setting us up. I guess I thought I could actually meet someone.”
An awkward silence hangs in my little house for a long moment as I take a sip of my wine, feeling Keith’s weighty gaze on me. We talk about a lot, but our dating life has always been an unspoken subject. Neither of us has ever had to draw the line to make sure it doesn’t come up. It’s like we both intentionally avoid it.
For different reasons, though, I think.
While he has never come out and said it, I’ve seen the looks, I’ve noticed the way he’s always available for me, how he answers my calls and texts immediately, without fail. Even when he’s in the middle of something police-related and can’t really talk.
I’m not the only one who’s noticed either. Misty’s convinced he has a diamond ring tucked away in an underwear drawer, sized for my finger. Every once in a while, when I’m especially lonely, I consider what it would be like if we were something more. But the thought always ends when I remind myself that I don’t feel that way about him. I’d be settling, and that’s not fair to Keith.
“What the hell’s with these, anyway?” Keith holds up the crystal glass in his hand.
“What? I found them at a garage sale. They’re nice!” And they were only fifty cents apiece.
“They’re made for children.”
“They don’t make wineglasses for children.”
“Then why are they so small? Come on, it’s like a shot glass!” To prove his point, he brings the rim to his lips and finishes it in one gulp, contorting his face into a sneer that I can’t help chuckling at. That’s Keith, always able to make me laugh, even in shitty situations.
“Sorry . . . next time I’ll make sure I have beer.” My eyes wander to the window, and unease creeps back in. There are people waiting for me beyond those curtains.
That reality puts a damper on the momentary relief.
“Tell you what, I’ll do a drive-by during my next shift and shake Mayberry’s tree a bit. Give him a good scare for taking advantage of the situation.”
“He’ll probably try to sell you a car while you’re at it,” I warn.
“I’d love to see him try.” He nods toward the street. “So? Shitty reporter practices or not, that’s not going to go away. I’m guessing there will be ten more out there by the morning.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“You can’t avoid it, Cath. What are you going to do?” Keith is notorious for being my voice of reason.
“What should I do?”
“Just give them what they want.”
“And that is . . . ?”
“The story. Tell them what happened, say your piece, and be done with it.”
“I’m not Gord Mayberry. I don’t want to be on TV.”
“Like I said that night, you’re getting your fifteen minutes of fame whether you like it or not, so just get ahead of it now, while you still can. They’re going to tell the world about Catherine Wright.” He leans forward in his seat, a soft expression taking over his typical nonchalant face. “Make sure they tell the right version.”
I shake my head, the dread of my past rearing its ugly head. I thought that part of my life was over.
“You were in high school. High school kids do stupid stuff all the time. Hell, I just arrested a fifteen-year-old last week for shoving potatoes in his neighbor’s tailpipe.”
“Not even close to the same thing.”
“I know you think you’re still some sort of social pariah, but honestly, you’re the only one who hasn’t moved on. Everyone else has.”
“This is just going to remind them.” I sigh. “I don’t want to go back to that. You don’t know what it was like, not being able to go anywhere without feeling people talking about you, glaring at you, judging you . . . Knowing that you’re the topic of conversation around tables and at parties. And that was when I was seventeen and the paper couldn’t publish my name. Now there are going to be millions of people talking about Catherine Wright.”
“So you slept with your teacher when you were a teenager. You saved a guy’s life, too. Which part do you think people are going to be more interested in hearing about?”
We were friends for two years before Keith got the nerve to ask me what really happened between Scott and me, if I had made it up. When I told him that I hadn’t, he believed me instantly. “Get out ahead of this and show them who you are now. A responsible, loving, selfless mother, and incredible woman.” His voice cracks over those last two words.
I drop my gaze to where my fingertips grasp the grooves in the crystal, the emotion in his words pricking me a little too close for my liking. “I don’t know . . .”
Keith hesitates. “Brett Madden called the station.”
“Right. Of course he did.” In all this, I hadn’t even thought of him seeing the broadcast, but it stands to reason that he’d be watching the news, too. “What did he say?”
“He wanted to know if it was really you, or if Gord was just some jackass looking for airtime.”
“And? What did you tell him?” I can’t hide the anxiety from my voice.
“He’s desperate to talk to you. To thank you. So stop being such a chickenshit. After what you did for the guy, it’s kind of pathetic.”
“Okay,” I hear myself blurt out, taking both of us by surprise.
Keith’s brows shoot up. “Okay?”
A flutter stirs in my stomach. “Yeah. I mean, it’s all out in the open now so . . . May as well talk to him, right? You could give him my -number and . . . I don’t know . . . tell him to call me?” What’s it going to be like to talk to him? Even after what happened, I can’t help but admit that I’m a bit starstruck.
Keith toys with the empty glass on the table. “Yeah, okay. I could do that.”
My gaze drifts to my worn La-Z-Boy and the old rotary phone sitting on the table next to it, unplugged. “My cell number.”
He chuckles. “I figured as much.”
“Okay.” I’m going to talk to Brett Madden. Maybe I’ll even meet him? A second, stronger wave of flutters hits me, thinking of the man standing at that podium on television today.
Keith shoots a glare my way, and I realize I’ve started biting my thumbnail, a nervous habit.
“What do you think he’s going to say?”
“Uh . . . ‘Thanks for pulling me from a burning car’? ‘Thanks for saving my life’? ‘I owe you one’? Something along those lines, anyway. Just a wild guess, though.” His phone chirps and he immediately reaches for it, only to frown at his screen. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
“Something wrong?” Please don’t tell me that Keith has to leave. I feel safer having him here.
“Nothing. Just . . . I told my date that I had to work late and I guess she found out that’s not true.”
I’m about to ask why he lied to her but decide against it. People around here assume we have something going on, and if she’s heard those rumors, then it would stand to reason that he not tell her he’s bailing on her because of me. “Who is she, anyway?”
His mouth twists in a grin, making him look even more boyish. “Her name’s Cora. She’s a paramedic. Just started a few months ago.”