Colette clamped her palm over her mouth, smiling at me with her sparkling eyes. “Go on,” she said in a muffled voice.

“No one knows what happened with William and Lilah,” I said, “but after that day, Lilah was never to be seen again. And William turned really weird, like he’d just walk around and stare at people blankly, all spaced-out and stuff. He’d barely talk to customers and his skin looked bad and he was just . . . strange.”

“He was heartbroken,” Colette mumbled behind her hand.

“But he still wore his yellow scarf everywhere, even in the summer when it was really hot like it was earlier. The scarf got all smelly and dingy, and people would try to get him to take it off because—gross—and he’d scream at them to get away from him. They all assumed he wore it as a reminder of the long-lost love of his life.”

Colette shivered next to me.

“Decades later, William died.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know, natural causes. So anyway, Lilah and the beautiful woman who’d brought back the scarf that day were both at his funeral. Lilah had returned to the town for the first time in forever to get closure or whatever. She was mad that the woman was there, too, and that she was still beautiful even though she was older.

“Even in the casket, William had on the gross old scarf with his suit. He’d put in his will that he wanted to be buried in it. After the funeral, the women ended up being the last people in the church. They stood next to William’s casket. Lilah said, ‘After all these years, I need to know why. Why did he have an affair with you? I thought he loved me! I thought we were so happy!’ The other woman gasped and said, ‘Oh my goodness! That’s what you think? That’s not what happened at all! Your tenth anniversary was coming up. William was going to surprise you with a trip to Paris. I’m a language teacher; I was teaching him French!’”

“No way!” Colette said, moving her hand to grip my sweatshirt. “This is insane!”

I giggled, happy that she was into it.

“Then what?” she asked excitedly.