Page 79 of The Roommate Lie

Don’t answer that.

Alice doesn’t. She blinks. Henrietta’s on a roll, but she sounds more amused than anything, as if she finds this whole conspiracy theory charming somehow.

“I’m on the town council,” she continues, “and I’m the board president of the Lilac Society. I’m a member of three book clubs, two town beautification organizations, four local planning committees, the garden club, and I sell quilting squares in my spare time—when I’m not answering panicked phone calls from my seven adult children and their spouses. Or spoiling my grandkids, or my great-grandkids, or?—”

“All right, overachiever,” Edna says. “We get it. Quit your squawking.”

Alice still looks betrayed, and she won’t even glance at me. Her cheeks are flush, her breath quick, and I haven’t felt this guilty in a long time. Not since that fateful night before rehab when I blew up my entire family.

“But I wasn’t—but you—I mean, you three know everything about everyone.Everything,” Alice stammers. “And so does the Victorian. So I thought?—”

Dottie interrupts her gently. “Sweetie, we know everything about everyone because people won’t stop running their mouths. At this altitude, the air is basically truth serum. Deprive people of enough oxygen, and they’ll tell you anything.”

The other birds chuckle in agreement, but Alice shakes her head, glancing at Dottie. “You even knew my old typewriter was broken, and I never told you that. Neither did Charlie.”

“Lydia mentioned it while she was out walking Cookie. That girl’s a talker.”

Henrietta nods. “Morning walks are a prime time for gossip. People will spill just about anything when they haven’t had their coffee yet.”

“We hear the same gossip the Victorian does,” Edna agrees. “Sometimes better gossip. We just don’t write it down. Because we don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Not even a little. Unless we think someone’s being an idiot—then we tell them to their face like Charlie said. Harsh honesty is one of the many perks of getting old. That and early bird specials.”

“And senior night at the movie theater,” Dottie chimes in.

“And spoiling our grandbabies rotten before sending them home.” Henrietta sighs happily. “Because their parents were a handful, and karma is a cruel mistress.”

The Old Birds are basically useless after that. They go an entire block barking out a laundry list of senior citizen perks. All while power walking faster than I can jog.

Alice and I can barely keep up. By the time we round the next corner, I’m panting like an out-of-shape Labrador, but the Old Birds are breathing easy, laughing as they squawk up a storm. If they notice the “youngsters” struggling to keep up, they don’t say anything. They don’t acknowledge us at all until we pass a copy ofDispatch From the Hedgerowstill waiting between someone’s fence slats.

I have the sudden urge to snag it and throw it away, but I don’t. When did this become a daily publication? That’s what I’d like to know. Before Alice showed up, we were lucky if we got two a month. Now it’s an everyday event, and that anonymous author is watching me way too closely.

Edna glances back just long enough to side-eye that scandal sheet. “Speaking of things the Victorian doesn’t know,” she begins slowly, wickedly. Even though no one was actually talking about that. “I hear you two met at poetry camp.”

The other birds snicker, and Edna keeps going.

“Which one of you blessed idiots came up with that one? Lies work best when they’re believable—maybe you should write that down.”

I shrug and fight to hold on to my dignity. “That lie was a joint effort. Teamwork makes the dream work.”

They snicker again, harder this time, and I don’t mean to smile. I glance at Alice to see if she’s smiling too, but she isn’t. Carrots still looks betrayed, and that expression on her face cuts me to my core. I’d do anything to fix it, to make that girl happy again—anything.

Even the unthinkable.

When we get home, she still isn’t talking to me. Alice heads for the stairs the moment we’re inside, and I have to hurry and snag her arm to stop her.

She pulls away, backing up on the staircase as I move closer, her body hovering a few steps above mine. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t, even though she’s clearly upset. She just glances down at me as I stand at the foot of the stairs, all quiet and hurt.

That girl doesn’t seem like much of a fighter—I’ve known that from the start. She’s got cut-and-run energy, so I pick the fight myself. “You should’ve told me you thought the Old Birds were the Victorian. You kind of blindsided me back there.”

“Me? You ratted me out right in front of them. Who blindsided who?”

I like that she’s fighting back, that she feels comfortable enough not to freeze up with me the way she did with Jason back at the resort. But then she tries to bolt again, and I reach for her hand, pulling her gently closer.

She doesn’t fight me. Alice is still a few steps above me on the staircase, and I gaze up at her. “Maybe I should’ve done it differently—maybe I handled this all wrong—but I’m right about the Old Birds. They aren’t the Victorian.”

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