Page 63 of Wicked Little Secret

The elevator dings reaching the fourth floor. I’m first out with Heather on my heels.

“Five minutes, Nyssie. That’s all.”

I sigh as I dig inside my bookbag for my keys. “Five minutes. Make it good.”

Coming up on my door, I spot the broken potted plant next to my welcome mat and slow to a halt.

It was perfectly intact when I left this morning. Who would’ve broken it?

There’s a crack right down the side as if it’s been kicked.

Heather stops at my side. “Cute plant. Who broke the pot?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“It’s okay, Nyssie. If you forgive me, I’ll buy you a new one!”

Peaches pounces at the two of us from the second we finally walk through the door. I’m unfazed while Heather shrieks and almost kicks her foot at the ginger cat. She catches herself right before she does, spying the look of warning I give her then pasting on a fake smile.

“Awww, sweet…” she says. “Peaches… she missed you… she’s cute… very cute.”

“What do you want, Heather?”

“Samson tricked me. I never would’ve slept with him. I was mourning my father and… and he took advantage.”

“Your father? You mean the one you told me you hated?”

“Grief is complicated, Nyssie. You know that.”

I toss my bookbag down on my quilted sofa and kick off my ankle boots. “When was the first time?”

She sniffles. “A few days after my dad passed away. I was feeling sorry for myself and he took advantage, Nyssie. I swear he did.”

“The afternoon you came over to try on your funeral outfit. The person you were meeting with. Was it him?”

“He said you’d never find out.”

“But Katie knew, didn’t she? That’s why you’ve been pissed at her.”

Heather pouts, folding her arms. “She wanted to tell you. As if she doesn’t sleep with whatever guy that’ll have her.”

“And the times after?” I ask, turning around for a look at her. “All the texting you’ve been doing?”

“It got out of control,” she says, her chin quivering. Tears gloss her eyes. A decent performance all things considered. Maybe Heather should’ve pursued theater instead of law. “He was always complimenting me. Telling me how gorgeous I was.”

“It sounds like he knew the things to say to stroke your ego.”

“Yes, exactly! You get it, Nyssie.”

“I may get it, Heather, but that doesn’t mean I’ll look past it.”

Peaches purrs in interruption, leaping up to the armrest of my sofa. I sit down with my hand extending to scratch her behind her little pointy ears. Peering across the room ata teary-eyed, rosy-cheeked Heather, I offer what I have all afternoon.

Cold indifference.

Secret joy.

For every sniffle of Heather’s, I remember how I’d cried too, all those years ago. I’d cried and Heather laughed.

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