“What’s wrong?”
She looked out at the water for a long time. Down the beach, a little boy shrieked with laughter as a wave knocked him over.
“There are things I’ve wanted to tell you for years,” she said.
My stomach clenched. “What things?”
“I kept waiting for the right time. There’s never a right time.”
“Paige, you’re scaring me.”
“I know.” Her eyes filled. She reached for my hand, then pulled back before she touched it. Then she leaned close and whispered, “Tomorrow, you’re going to find out who I’ve really been all these years. And I’m so afraid you’re going to hate me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because tomorrow, you’ll understand everything.”
I stared at her. My oldest friend. The woman who had been in my house a thousand times. Who had eaten at my table with my husband. Who’d held me up these last eight months like a beam under a falling roof.
