When Sophia knocked, Madeline thought about not letting her in, pretending like she wasn’t there and just blowing the whole thing off. If she did that, her friendship with Sophia would most definitely be over. Not because of what had happened with Zach but because Sophia would have no choice but to think of Madeline as the biggest freak ever to live. Invite her over and then refuse to let her in . . .

Madeline stood on her side of the front door while Sophia knocked again on the other. Madeline’s hand went up to her eyebrow and pulled. Once and then twice before a tiny hair came out. She needed to open the door before her eyebrows were gone, so she did.

Sophia stood there, looking as naturally beautiful as ever, even though she wore a pair of denim shorts, a hoodie, and green Chuck Taylors that almost matched her eyes. Madeline backed up, and Sophia came in. When the door was closed, Sophia held her arms out, and she folded Madeline in a big hug.

“I’m so sorry about the other night,” Madeline said. “You know, I mean, I’d never . . .”

“I know.”

Sophia dropped her purse next to the sheet-covered chair and sat down.

“I think I’m out of wine. And I had only cheap shit anyway.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I might have some tea bags my mom gave me,” Madeline said.

“I’m good, Madeline. Just sit.”

So Madeline did. And she sat on her hands, like she sometimes did, to keep them from going up to pluck at her eyebrows.

The two women sat across from each other. And Madeline was so nervous, so scared. She just wanted things to be normal with Sophia.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want any of that to happen. And I didn’t want you to find out.”

Sophia shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I would never blame a woman for a man doing something like that. I know who Zach is, and I know the kinds of things he does when he drinks.” Sophia’s jaw was set firmly, like it’d been carved into the side of a mountain. “We talked about it. Very thoroughly.”

“I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

“You need to stop apologizing for things you didn’t do,” Sophia said.

It sounded to Madeline like ancient wisdom, like something someone wiser had said to Sophia, and now she was passing it on to Madeline. And someday Madeline might be smart enough or old enough to hand it on to another woman who needed help.

“Thanks for coming over,” she said.

“When a friend’s in trouble . . . Besides, I don’t get the feeling you share much with many people. Maybe I’m just special.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe that’s why I’m writing a book based on you. And me. Our friendship.”