Page 198 of Murder

“Barrett,” I gasp. I start howling.

I can feel him laughing, too, his chest bumping into mine as his low chuckles fill the car.

“I’m sorry,” I cackle. “I love them so much. And you.”

By the time I pull out of his lap, I have to wipe tears from my eyes. The tears pick up steam again as I look at the bracelets. “God, they’re perfect. Thank you, Bear.”

I wipe my face, but that just seems to make the tears flow faster. Then I’m crying in my hands. I don’t know why.

“No… Piglet.” Barrett’s leaning over to me now, his hands on my shoulders. “Hey… It’s Christmas, and you’re Santa, right? Striptease Santa doesn’t cry on Christmas.”

I laugh, still crying.

“You’re a sad one. A sad drunk,” he murmurs, wiping my tears with his fingers.

I nod.

“Better than a mad one, baby. Better than a mad one.”

I settle eventually, and Barrett runs back into my mom’s house and gets some water for me. I look at the bracelets, winking like a bunch of little guiding lights.

And that’s when I realize: I am a mad one. I’m a mad drunk, and I’m mad sober. Because I love Barrett, so much. I love him, but I can’t move on. I can’t write a new story with Bear because I’m missing a huge chapter of my old one.

NINETEEN

GWENNA

January 1, 2012

1:11 a.m.

I press my fingertip against the clock that sits on Jamie’s bathroom counter. Isn’t that what we used to do when we were kids? See a row of the same digit on the clock, and you got to make a wish. What is my wish, I wonder, as I sink my nose into the thick gray scarf.

It smells like man.

Not cologne, how Elvie smells, but male. Like…pheromones. And how pathetic am I, standing in Jamie’s bathroom, sniffing some dude I don’t even know.

I sigh, a sound that echoes. Which kind of makes me laugh. I’m still smiling as I dial Elvie.

For reasons I can’t fully explain, I left the theater room, where Nic and Jamie were starting Forrest Gump, and went to my room to call Elvie. But I had to pee, and my bathroom didn’t have toilet paper, so I came in here to—

Oh yeah. I need to use the restroom.

I sit down as the phone rings, and then stand as I realize there’s no TP here, either.

I frown at myself in the mirror as the phone rings once…twice…three times before I’m answered by a male laugh.

“Elvie.”

He laughs again. My lips move into a reciprocating grin, until I hear him say, “Stop, babe.”

“What?”

He laughs again, and it’s his slow laugh. It’s his drunk laugh. “Sorry, babe.” He hisses, “Just a second.”

My pulse spikes, despite the alcohol still in my bloodstream. “Are you talking to somebody else?”

“Gwen? I can’t hear you.”

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