Page 25 of A Night to Remember

I grin back unreservedly this time. “Well, good luck, my friend.”

“Thanks,” he replies with a smile of his own, stooping to kiss my cheek affectionately before disappearing down the alley.

Later,thoughts of that tall, dark, and handsome almost-stranger resurface. I’d let my guard down last night, that’s for sure. But it’d been hard to nurse any kind of grudge when I was feeling so happy. I’d finally finished my story. Lydia, my protagonist, falls in love with her colleague. Later she discovers that he’s working with the government agents to plan an attack on the aliens, who have come in peace. In the end she has to choose between love and doing what’s right. An exposé here, a laser beam there, and BAM, my girl decides to dedicate the rest of her life to science. I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out. Not only that, but I submitted it toClarkesworld Magazine. From my knowledge of their back catalog and what I’ve read on online forums, I should have a real chance at publication. I probably shouldn’t get my hopes up, but still, I think it’s better to try and fail than not try at all.

I’d sent the bank the letter asserting Mom’s rights before submitting my story. If the house can be savedandI can start publishing my work, then maybe I can find my way out of Kentwood and get my life back on track.

On Sunday night, in a fit of optimism, I sit down at my laptop to start Googling jobs. But before I touch the keys, my thoughts turn, again, to Gabe. I still feel like I shouldn’t trust him. Mom seems to accept his help at face value, while I can’t help but wonder if he has an ulterior motive. Of course, I have no idea what that would be. None of the advice he’s given me seems in any way suspect. Possibly he’s annoyed that I never slept with him and is slowly winning my trust before luringme to an abandoned cabin in the woods. If that’s the case, I ought to keep that bottle of Bloody Mary mix on hand after all. Teenage me would have thought these ideas were ludicrous, but that was before I saw him pushing Allison into his car at Steven O’Connor’s graduation party. True, he didn’t murder her, but whatdidhe do?

Psychopath or sweetheart? I tap my finger to my chin before giving in and typing “Gabriel Wilson Kentwood Chicago”into the search bar. I find a LinkedIn profile that describes his education and internship experiences. While at Northwestern, he apparently won a prize for writing the best paper that year on the law of local government. Further digging reveals that he’s still active in the Boy Scouts, mentoring troops and coordinating community service efforts. I find what I think is a picture of him bathing dogs at an animal shelter, shampooing a forlorn-looking golden retriever with his sleeves rolled up, but that would just be too fucking cute, so I make myself click away.

Next, social media. Turns out Gabe hasn’t updated his Facebook page since 2018 and has no other accounts of his own, but the ex(?)-fiancée is a different story. Gretchen Meier could have a second career as an influencer. Her Instagram is full of glamorous shots of her and a handsome, strawberry-blond man, but if I scroll way, way down, I find photos of her and someone I recognize. Gretchen and Gabe in Chicago, dining at Alinea, the best restaurant in the world according toElite Travelerand Gretchen; Gretchen and Gabe in Switzerland, about to hit the slopes at Grindelwald, the best ski resort in the world according toSnow Magazineand Gretchen; Gretchen and Gabe at our local state park, pinching off ticks that carry the best Lyme disease in the world according toParasite Internationaland Gretchen (okay, I made that last one up). It looks like an amazing, jet-setting life, but Gabe’s affable smile is noticeably absent. He’s smiling, sure, but it’s a just-the-lips kind of smileand nothing like the face-altering expression of delight I used to know. He disappears from the pictures around April of last year.

What did they have in common, anyway? I remember Gretchen Meier vaguely as one of the popular girls, which in our school also meant rich. If Gretchen got a new bag or phone or car, weallllhad to hear about it. When I discovered, through the grapevine, that she was his ex(?)-fiancée, I’d been surprised. During our senior year, he didn’t appear interested in anyone but me, though maybe he and Gretchen had been playing some kind of elaborateCruel Intentions-type game. The Gabe I knew seemed to have more in common with that sudsy golden retriever (yes, it’s him in the picture, I clicked back) than with suave and glamorous Ryan Phillippe. But I still found him (almost) irresistible, and that terrified me.

I didn’t want a boyfriend in high school. Or in college. I don’t even want a boyfriend now. I want to stay focused on my goals. But Gabe had been an awful temptation. If he had asked me out back then, it would have been incredibly hard to say no. I was almost looking forward to graduating so that we wouldn’t see each other anymore. In a brief moment of madness I had thought I might be able to give in once, safe in the knowledge that we would soon be parting ways forever.

There’s always the phone, he had said.And school breaks.We couldn’t have kept away from each other, I realize all in a rush. If we started sleeping together, we wouldn’t have been able to stop. I shut my laptop and turn my phone face-down on the table, breathing hard. I would have given him anything. And that would have jeopardized everything. Ihadto push him away. I’d had no choice.

And I may have to do it again. If he’s a psychopath, he’s an effective one. I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him. Given the chance, I very well might follow him to that abandoned cabin in the woods.

If he’s a sweetheart… well, wouldn’t that almost be worse?

“So!”Allison says, jumping out from behind a library shelf like a pink-jumpsuited assassin. I startle so hard that I smack myself in the face with China Miéville’sThe City and the City. “What’s this I hear about you buying dinner for Gabe Wilson?”

“Uh, what?” I stammer, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t buy him dinner.”

“My sources tell me you broughtthreedinners home from the café the other night. One was aburger.Rare. I don’t think I’veeverseen you eat red meat.”

“That doesn’t mean that it was for—wait, who are these sources?”

“It’s a small town,” she says, folding her arms with a smug smile. “So what gives?”

“Nothing. I was… hungry. Saving some food for lunch the next day. My long-lost father came back into town.”

“Lies, lies, lies.” She smiles even wider. “I happen to know he came into the café looking for you a few weeks ago. I happen to know you were very flustered to see him. This is how it starts. Trust me, I’ve readallthe books.”

“It was Meg, wasn’t it? Meg came in here and you two started gossiping about me because you’re both settled and now having nothing to obsess over. Am I right?”

“Okay, fine, Meg brought the kids to story time on Saturday morning and the conversationmayhave turned to you and your small-town romance.”

“I’m not having a romance! And you of all people should know that I would never go out with Gabe Wilson.” I glare at her, trying futilely to suppress the flush I feel spreading up my neck.Ask her, my brain whispers to me.Just ask her what happened that night. But I can’t. And instead of taking the bait, she just furrows her brow.

“Me of all people? What does that mean? I never had a thing with Gabe.” I study her face, but she doesn’t seem to be hiding anything. Does she really not remember? Or is she pretending not to mind for my sake?

“No, but?—”

“No buts! Babe, I’m happy for you! We can have a double wedding!” I’m about to protest again, vehemently, when I catch the meaning of her last words. A slow smile spreads across my face.

“You knew!” she shouts, much too loud for the library, and gives me a hard shove. “He told you everything, you punk!”

I laugh. “No, he didn’t, I swear! He just wanted me to approve the ring. You like it, right?”

Instead of answering, she just sighs and admires her left hand. The ring is gorgeous, but I know that gaga smile is for the man who gave it to her.

“Congratulations,” I say quietly, trying not to cry. “When did he ask?”

“Yesterday,” she replies. She glances quickly at me, her eyes shining with happy tears. I smile even wider, if possible. “You know Tom’s not really the kind of guy to propose on a Jumbotron,” she begins. “He took me for a walk by the lake after work. It wasfreezing, but I had to stop myself from complaining, because he kept checking his pocket in a way that told me what was up. We both knew we wanted to get married, of course. Then he got down on one knee and I burst into tears, which immediately froze on my face.” She laughs wetly now, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I said yes, obviously.”

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