I felt a hard wave of anger that pushed me right to my feet. I was not going to sit there and be judged by Stella, of all people. “Okay, I think I’m going to go.”
“I’m sorry, Molly. I’m not trying to be a bitch here. But I am your friend.” Stella had pressed her lips together as she looked at me. “I—I just don’t want to see you make a bad situation worse by trying to pretend it’s okay.”
“Well, thanks for that,” I said, though I was pretty sure Stella’s motives weren’t nearly that altruistic. “But trust me, Stella, when I need your advice, I will let you know.”
Now I peered at Stella, standing there on our stoop. She looked awful. She had on worn jeans and an ill-fitting, unflattering shirt. Her skin was blotchy. Maybe she was there to apologize. She had sent me some texts that I’d ignored. I owed it to her to hear her out.
“Can I come in?” she asked when I opened the door. Even her voice was deflated, no trace of her usual bravado. But she didn’t sound all that apologetic. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s been bothering me ever since we met last week. Longer than that, really. I just— It will only take a minute.”
“I don’t need another lecture, Stella,” I said. “I know you think you’re helping, but honestly, I’m fine.”
She didn’t say anything else as she took a couple of steps into the living room. She also didn’t sit down. Instead, she looked toward the kitchen, where Ella was conducting an elaborate play with paper bag puppets. Like she wanted to be sure that Ella was safely out of earshot before she said whatever inappropriate thing she was about to say.
“For the record, I’m not forgiving Justin, Stella.” I hated myself for launching into yet another explanation to which Stella was not entitled. I didn’t need to explain myself to anyone. But I was hoping it would keep her from saying something else that would aggravate me. “And I’m sorry if I don’t hate him the way you hate Kevin. But that’s not what I want for myself. I don’t enjoy it the way you do.”
She winced but didn’t argue. How could she when it was true?
“Maybe you could hate him just a little,” she said. She was holding out her phone to me. “You never saw these, did you?”
“Saw what? What is it, Stella?” Reluctantly, I glanced down at the screen, long enough to see that it was a comments page from the Ridgedale Reader. “I don’t read the comments on my stories. You know that.”
“Now I do. But I didn’t at the time.” She was still holding out her phone. “Please read just this one. Then I will go. And you never have to talk to me again.”
Never talk to her again? This time I squinted down at the screen, trying to make sense of the message. This baby belongs to you. And from a user name, 246Barry, that had Justin’s office number in it—246 Barry Hall—posted at the time I’d written the story, long before anyone knew about Hannah, much less Justin. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know,” Stella said ruefully. “I was too cryptic. Too clever for my own good. For anyone’s good. I wanted you to figure it out without me ever having to tell you.”
“Stella, what are you talking about?” I had the most terrible feeling. Not anger, fear. I wanted to be angry again.
“I saw a text someone sent to Justin, Molly. He went to the bathroom, left his phone there on the bar. I wasn’t snooping or anything. It was just right there. And I didn’t know who it was from at the time. It didn’t even say anything that specific—just ‘I really need to talk to you now, please,’ that kind of thing. But it was the way it was written, you know? I just knew.”
“Stella, ‘knew’ what? What are you talking about?”
“I made a joke about it to Justin when he got back from the bathroom: You get her pregnant and leave her by the side of the road? And there was just this look on Justin’s face, Molly. Like he wanted to kill me. It was obvious: There was someone out there that he’d gotten pregnant. Then after they found the baby and you told me how he was acting about the story—I just—” Her voice caught. “I couldn’t be sure it was his baby, except I was. But I was too much of a coward to tell you, so I posted some stupid messages that you never even saw. I would have told you if you hadn’t found out yourself. I swear.”
“What?” It was all I could think to say. None of what she was saying made any sense at all. “Wait, how would you— When would you have seen Justin’s texts?” The three of us hadn’t had dinner together in months, and even then they hadn’t been alone together. “What bar?”
Stella took a deep breath as her eyes filled with tears. “It was just one glass of wine, Molly. One time. Nothing happened. But if Justin hadn’t gotten the text that night? If he and I hadn’t argued right after, would something have?” She shook her head. Shrugged. “I can live with you hating me for that. I’ll have to. I can even live with you not hating him. Just don’t forgive him, Molly—not all the way. He doesn’t deserve that. And neither do you.”
Erik came in while I was clearing out my desk. He was carrying coffee and a muffin, with several papers tucked under his arm. He looked tired but happy, like the parent of any new baby. I was so happy for him that it had all worked out at last.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said as I gathered up the last of my files. “I’ve already said this a hundred times, but I’d love for you to keep a desk here. You can even freelance for whoever else you want.”
Erik had said this many times since I’d given my notice two months earlier, five long months since Justin had moved out, three and a half months since I’d spoken to Stella. I’d seen her, of course, Ridgedale was small, but she’d kept a respectful distance.
“Can I leave it as a maybe?” I said, even though I knew it was a no.
“Of course,” he said. “I understand, you’ve got a lot on your plate. And I can’t wait to read it, truly.”