“That woman’s ruined my life, Gayle. She’s done what she came here to do: break us up, get Donald back. She set her trap and snared her prey. And she did it using the oldest trick in the book—getting pregnant.” I tried to collect myself. “Considering what’s happened, I deserve a small measure of satisfaction. I deserve to be left with at least the merest shred of dignity. If I go there and tell them I know before they drop the bomb on me, I won’t look like a complete idiot.”

Gayle offered in a soft, soft voice to pick me up. Given my emotional and physical state, that sounded like a good idea. And so, twenty minutes later, just after six o’clock, my eyes dry and my face pale, I left the house and ran across the lawn in the dark to her car.

Chapter 25

25

“Listen,” Gayle said, swerving through the dark quiet streets of northwest Washington (she was a terrible driver). “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of calling Fran.”

“To do what? Come with us?” I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that would be like.

“No no no.” She jerked the car to the right; narrowly avoided a jogger and two pedestrians carrying Safeway bags. “Just to extract her moral support.”

“And?” I was almost afraid to hear what Fran had said.

“And, well, she was absolutely one hundred percent on your side and completely disgusted with Adrienne. Called her a ‘skank’ and a ‘slut’ and something else rather—”

“Okay. I get the picture.”

“Really, she was terribly sorry for ever having taken to her in the first place. As am I, of course. We were tricked and seduced, you see.”

“Fran? Terribly sorry for anything? I don’t believe it.”

She turned to face me in an attempt to convince me how completely true her tale of Fran’s contrition was. But I didn’t buy it for an instant. And besides, I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Not only was Gayle a menace behind the wheel, but I was a terrible passenger—seeing death and disfigurement around every corner.

I pushed my hand up against the dashboard, melodramatically. “Watch the road.”

“Yes.”

“No really. I mean, watch it. I don’t want to get into an accident right now. I’m not in the mood.”

“Yes.”

Glancing around at her, I saw a bit of collar peeking out of her coat. “You’re still wearing that stupid Linda Hunt shirt. I thought we talked about that.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes I’ll get rid of it. I promise.”

Maybe I was wrong about the shirt—maybe it wasn’t so bad— I didn’t know anything anymore. Except this: We were almost there.