“I don’t know, Sher. Maybe everything would have been different if I’d put my neck out. You wouldn’t have gone to his cabin, or if you did you would have given him a piece of your mind. Instead, you had your party, and that’s all she wrote.”

Parties were all she’d cared about back then. No wonder Arthur had been hesitant to let her invite her friends to his new place.

“How’d you find out about him, anyway?”

“I went to see the house.”

Jerry whistles. “Ooh boy.”

“I thought I needed closure, but instead of closure I got something else entirely, that’s for sure. His son. He looks just like him. I thought Arthur had come back from the dead. When I said I’d been friends with his dad—”

“Friends, huh?” Jerry smiles and winks.

“Yeah, well, I think he was thinking the same thing judging by the way he looked at me. Like he knew I was a Bunny and that’s it, just a Bunny. Like what had happened was all my fault. And you know what? It was. I’ve never forgiven myself.”

Jerry leans forward and places his hand on her shoulder, a fatherly gesture. “You should have never been there in the first place. He’s the one that lured you there. But look, we all make mistakes. What happened, it was nobody’s fault. Let that sink in. Life is random, Sher. Why did Arthur die that day? Why do I have cancer?”

How, after a lifetime of blaming herself for what had happened to Arthur, could she let go of her guilt? She wasn’t ready. Sherri’s mind is still racing. “Was Arthur just using me, you think? Maybe he planned to keep me on the hook long enough for his stock to take off. Then he could sell, have me sign some paperwork, he’d get his money, his dad would never get in trouble for insider trading. What was I to him, just a name on an account that would have made him rich?”

Jerry stood up on his spindly legs and took his plate to the kitchen. Sherri followed him. “I don’t know, Sher.” He pushed the eggshells into the dish disposal—didn’t he know not to do that? “I wish I did.”

“What do you know about his wife?” That word felt so loaded on her tongue. All these years there’d been another woman who’d known, loved, and mourned Arthur.