Somewhere around the second hour, I took out my phone and opened the photo Paige had taken under the umbrella. Her head on my shoulder. Both of us squinting into the sun. Her left hand resting on my knee, that crooked little finger bent sideways next to mine.
Our last photo as best friends.
I hit delete.
The phone asked if I was sure.
My thumb hovered over the button for a long, long time.
Then I closed the app without choosing anything and put the phone face down on the seat beside me.
My mother called me four times that morning. I let it ring. At 12:30, she left a voicemail. Her voice was shaking.
Meredith, honey. Paige is here. She told me what happened. Please come over. Please. There’s something I should have told you a very long time ago.
I deleted it.
She called again at four. This time I picked up, just long enough to say, “Mom, I don’t want to hear it. Whatever she told you, it’s a lie.”
