Yeah, that Agatha Tark lived in them!!!! Germaine replied.

I haven’t done any research yet, Truman allowed. In truth, he hadn’t even thought that there might be other ships, but Charlotte was right.

Sooooo, Germaine interrupted. How are you holding up?

Germaine and Charlotte weren’t only fellow Tark-heads, although their friendship had begun that way. They were his closest friends and confidantes, closer by far than his friends in New Orleans, even Ramona. They’d never met in person, and perhaps they never would. In fact, it was easier to confide in them precisely for that reason.

He didn’t need to emote when he felt blank or to rein it in when he felt too much. They hadn’t needed to know that he was curled up in bed sobbing when he wrote to tell them about Guy (although Charlotte’s murderous reply and Germaine’s tender offer for a phone call suggested that they’d had their suspicions).

The truth was he wasn’t sure how he was doing. It had been such a whirlwind since he’d gotten to Owl Island that he’d hardly had a moment to think about Guy.

I’m okay. Mostly, I feel like such a fool and I keep looking back at all these obvious signs and being like, Wow, how were you oblivious to the reddest flags in the world? Like, he NEVER stayed over at my place. Well, like three times, and clearly that was when his husband or partner or whoever that was must’ve been out of town. He never wanted to go out. He talked about himself ALL the time and was it all a lie?! How did this happen?

Truman slumped.

Look, for someone to do that, they would have to be utterly selfish, entitled, and not care about anyone else’s feelings but their own. You dodged a bullet finding out when you did.

But it’s still super sad! Germaine acknowledged. T really loved him!

I know, which is why it’s so good he found out now! Charlotte wrote. Also can we talk for one second about how you found out because you were going over to drop off a surprise gift? Like, paging symbolism 101, your generosity saved you!

More like my pathetic into-him-ness revealed what a puddle I am. Truman hit Enter so hard he almost dropped his phone.

Aww, puddle truman, Germaine wrote, with a string of hug heart emojis.

I gotta jet, buds, Charlotte wrote. Client’s here, but I’ll chat later.

Charlotte was a lawyer, and when they’d first become friends, Truman had gotten self-conscious any time he’d say anything slightly illegal, like that he wished he could murder one of his bosses or that he’d picked up a dollar in the French Quarter and not tried to find who it belonged to.