“Like go see a movie hang out or . . .?”

I tried to swallow again, but my throat was too dry. “He would climb into my bedroom window and hold me while I slept every night.”

Sandra was exceptionally quiet; I couldn’t even hear her breathe. I met her gaze and discovered that she’d turned into Shrink Sandra; she studied me with notes of detachment and supportive skepticism.

“Go on,” said Shrink Sandra.

I didn’t precisely know why, but I did; “We—Nico and I—never spoke about it, not really. He just showed up one night at my window and I let him in. He didn’t say anything, he hugged me and I cried and then we lay down on the bed and I fell asleep. It was the first time I was able to sleep through the night since Garrett died.”

I fiddled with the lacey hem of my petticoat and recalled how it felt to wake up in Nico’s arms. He was watching me sleep. Just moments after I awoke, before I could form a intelligible thought, he wordlessly kissed my forehead, slowly extracted himself from my arms, then left the same way he came. That morning, after he left, I felt a measure of peace. I felt grateful.

But that night I wasn’t able to sleep until he arrived.

“I think at first he came because he needed the comfort too. But then after a while I think he just felt sorry for me.”

I stared past Sandra, remembering those months. I couldn’t fall asleep unless he was there. If he was late I would wait up for him. He was so warm and strong.

I began to resent Nico for having something I needed, for depending on him. I hated the fact that I started feeling something for him, this boy who’d tortured me in school, and only four months after Garrett died. The thought of having feelings for someone was frightening enough without that person being Nico Manganiello.

But later, much later, I felt shame for taking him so completely for granted. I was a mess.

“How long did this go on?”

“Four months.”

“And why did it stop?”

“I—” I took a steadying breath. “I can’t believe I’m talking about this, in a shower stall, at my high school reunion.”

Shrink Sandra’s smile was warm, but aloof. “Did you ask him to stop?”

“I had sex with him.” It was hard to continue, mostly because I was going to admit out loud that I was a terrible person, that I’d used Nico, took advantage of an opportunity. But I forced the words past my tightening throat. “Then I left and went to Ireland for five months.”

“How did he feel about you leaving?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t talk to him?”

“No. The week before, before the night we slept together, I told Nico I didn’t want him coming to my room again. I didn’t want him sleeping with me. I told him I was okay and that I didn’t need him anymore.”

“Because you started having feelings for him?” Sandra guessed.

I smirked at her mad-mind-reading skills and twisted the fabric of my skirt. “Because I started having feelings for him.”

“And you never told him.” Another statement.

I shook my head to confirm.

“Then you went to his house, climbed into his window, and—what—seduced him?”

I nodded my head to confirm.

“Why did you do that?”

I couldn’t meet her eyes any longer. “Because I wanted to. I wanted my first time to be with someone I had feelings for. But I didn’t care if he returned my feelings because I was being selfish. I used him.”

Sandra sighed again. “Then what happened?”

“I left. I left him while he was asleep. When I was in Ireland I deleted his emails, sent back his letters unopened, didn’t accept his calls. I cut him out.”

Shrink Sandra studied me, assessing, frowning. I waited for her to point a finger in judgment or shake her head in disappointment. Part of me wanted her to. I thought maybe a good chastisement might help me move past the guilt.

Instead she asked another question, “What did he do when you came back? You finished your senior year here, right?”

“Yes. I was dreading it, seeing him. But when I came back he’d dropped out of high school and moved to New York to become an underwear model.”

“So, that night when you slept with him, was that the last time you saw him?”

I nodded. “Yes, well—yes until last week.” I glanced at my fingers. “You remember, he was the celebrity at the hospital last week that everyone was freaking out about. His niece might qualify for a clinical trial.”

“And how did he behave when he saw you?”

“Sandra . . .” I glared at her. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to discuss how he’d been able to fluster and disarm me so effectively eleven years after my monumental mistake. He was a big old gaping hole in my armor, and I didn’t like thinking about him let alone discussing him.

“Elizabeth.” Her eyes narrowed as well.

All it took was narrowed eyes and inflection of the shrink voice.

“I don’t know.” I tried to be evasive and honest at the same time. “He was—I guess he was kind of hostile. Then, later, he apologized. He asked me to be friends.”

“He asked you to be friends?”

“Yes. It was very surreal.”

“I can imagine.” She nodded slowly for a full ten seconds, still watching me through narrowed eyes. Then, Shrink Sandra was gone and she said, “Okay then. It’s High School Musical time.”

“Wh-what?”

“Well, we’re not going to stay in here all night. I came here to dance and watch you make awkward conversation with your old classmates. I’m going to dance.” She grabbed my hand and led me out of the shower.

The abrupt switch in topics gave me Sandra-personality-conversation whiplash. “But—but I can’t—I can’t—” With every thump of my heart, the organ rose higher in my throat. “I can’t go out there.”

“Yes, you can.” She grinned over her shoulder. “And we’re going to sit with The Face.”

~*~

I didn’t notice much about my surroundings as we wound through the tables to the one nearest the dance floor. I was too busy chiding myself for being an idiot. This was something I used to do a lot, when I was younger and really an idiot. All my blustery intentions of stunning everyone felt ridiculous and insipid, because they were.

Because I was.

I was ridiculous and insipid.

I decided that all plans for vapid high school maneuvers were to be abandoned ASAP. I felt both better and lost. With no plan I wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Hoping that this part of my personality—perhaps like most people—was regulated only to situations involving high school, I made a silent pledge to redouble my efforts to be brave, honest, and self-effacing.

This would be difficult.

Every person clustered around Nico’s table was aiming stares of toxic intent in our general direction. Well, almost everyone. Well, all the women.

Regardless, Sandra approached with the confidence of one who is certain to be welcomed. She sauntered right up, placed my name tag at an empty seat and hooked her bag on the back of a chair.

Nico was standing at a different table nearby leaning close to a tall blonde. I recognized her as one of his on again, off again high school girlfriends, Shelly Martin. She was mostly in profile. He whispered something in her ear which made her laugh. It wasn’t a forced laugh. It was genuine and contagious. People in their sphere were attempting to lean closer, be part of the conversation, pressing themselves into his space.

I was reminded that he was basically irresistible.

“Okay then—start introducing me to people.” Sandra grinned, her eyes dancing around the crowd.

I grimaced at the thought, but, feeling strangely better now that my sins had been confessed and my foolhardy plan abandoned, surveyed the room. My gaze landed on a boy who I despised from my sophomore trigonometry class, Brace Wilson. He was on the swim team; he would try to look over my shoulder during tests and frequently ask to copy my homework.

Swallowing my pride I marched over to where he stood with a woman I assumed was his date. I decided that now was a good time to practice redoubling my efforts to be brave, honest, and self-effacing.

“Hi. Brace.” I paused a beat, gave him time to identify me, then stuck out my hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

Brown eyes moved over my face with teetering recognition. “Oh—hi—uh . . .”

“I’m Elizabeth—but you probably remember me as Skinny Finney.” I smiled.

His eyes grew several sizes. “Oh yeah. I remember you—we were in math together.” To my complete astonishment he hugged me. “You were so nice.” Brace released me, keeping a hand on my shoulder, then turned to the woman at his arm. “She used to let me copy her homework. Finney is the reason I didn’t fail out of that class.”

The woman’s eyes were warm and friendly. “He’s still terrible at math. I’m Belinda.”

I shook hands with Belinda, introduced Sandra, then found myself engaged in an easy conversation with Brace and Belinda.

They were married. Brace joined the army after high school then left after four tours in Iraq. He now drove semi-trucks. Belinda was a nurse. She was pregnant with their first child.