“No. Not really.”

“Well. The thing is that, out of the blue, Diego told me he wanted to try again with his ex-wife. He said he needed to give it one last chance. He told me he wasn’t doing it for himself, but for his son, to give him a family. It broke my heart, but of course I understood and told him not to worry, that I’d be there for him, I’d support him . . . But then, a little before his birthday, I found out he’d been screwing Lisette for months. The line about going back to his wife was never true.”

She paused and took a sip of beer. Then she went on:

“I felt awful, of course. And I suffered and cried and all that. But it also made me furious, really furious. And, well, I didn’t want to sit around and wait for the world to pay him back,” she finished in a provocative tone.

Dorothy looked at me defiantly, and I at her, admiring. The kind of admiration I feel for villains, with their brave and intelligent plans. Though Dorothy was no villain, no vigilante. The role she had played was more complex than that.

“Does anyone else know?”

“No. It’s my secret.”

I took a long sip of beer. I looked around in search of anything I could recognize from the old Friday’s dining room. All those people I’d thought were so insignificant came back to my mind, now the protagonists of my memories. Denka’s eyes filled with fear, Diego’s with resignation and sadness. Even though I never saw him in person, I even imagined Diego’s son, the ten-year-old boy with his unemployed father. Over all those faces in my mind emerged Dorothy’s, impassive. She hadn’t been part of the chorus of suspects when it all happened. I tried to remember how she’d acted, what her reaction had been. Was she upset or scared? Tired and sad? Silent and doubtful, or was there a triumphant glint in her eyes? Something in me refused to accept that she’d been capable of sending that e-mail. That she had woven such a plot and borne the pressure of the consequences.

“You know the funniest thing about it?” asked Dorothy, interrupting my thoughts. “It was thanks to you. You played a very important role.”

I looked at her, confused.

“You remember that book you lent me?”

“What book?”

“Remember how you were always talking about books, and sometimes I asked you to lend me one?”

I said yes, but the truth is I didn’t remember lending her books, much less her asking for them.