A tear cascades from my right eye at the mention of Harry Finch, and I brush it away. “Lucy, where is Harry?”
There’s a sharp inhale of breath on the other line. “Tess…”
“Please tell me.Please.”
“I… I don’t know. Before your accident, you hadn’t mentioned him in years. But now…”
“Why did I break up with him?”
She’s quiet on the other line. “You just grew apart.”
“Grew apart? Lucy, we wereengaged!”
“I don’t know.” There’s a vagueness to her voice that makes me think she’s lying to me. “You called it off.”
“When?”
“Maybe six months after you got engaged? I can’t remember. You just said you were glad you decided not to marry him before the wedding invitations went out.”
“Butwhy?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. He was just sort of a loser, you know? And you were so much better off without him. You werewaytoo good for Harry Finch.”
I wince at her comment. Harry and Lucy didn’t particularly like each other, but they both tried to be civil around each other for my sake. And Lucy promised to keep the negative comments to a minimum. This isn’t the firsttime she’s informed me I was too good for Harry.
“And then you started seeing Graham…” she adds.
“Yeah…”
“And he’s great. An all-around wonderful guy.”
“He seems nice.” I chew on my thumbnail. “He’s been so kind to me today. And it’s such a great story about how we met. The way he saved my life…”
Lucy laughs. “Saved your life? What are you talking about?”
I frown. “The story of how we met. Hadn’t I told you before?”
“Well, yes…”
“It’s… romantic.” I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could remember the day it happened. “A car was going to hit me and he pulled me out of traffic…”
“Pulled you out of traffic!” Lucy cackles with laughter. “Who told youthat?”
My fingers freeze on my phone. “Graham told me. This morning.”
The laughter instantly dies. “Oh.”
“What are you saying?” I press her. “How did Graham and I really meet?”
“Well, he…” I can hear her swallow. “He was an accountant you hired for your company. I… I thought that’s how you met. But maybe he also saved your life. Or… is it possible that you misunderstood?”
That scar on my right scalp throbs dully, and I press my fingers against it. Graham told me this morning that we met when he saved my life. I’msureof it. I may not remember what happened yesterday, but the conversationwith him is so clear in my mind. He told me he pulled me out of traffic just before a car was about to hit me.
Didn’t he?
I pull up the sleeve of my shirt. I stare down at the number that I apparently fabricated completely. It felt so real, but it wasn’t. I can’t trust myself.
“I have to go,” I manage.
