She took the stool next to him, asked Graham for a glass of cabernet, and whispered viciously, “I just don’t get it.”

“I know,” Greg murmured.

“Have you been… talking to her?”

“Sort of,” he said.

“Sort of!” Delilah said. She sounded like the indignant wife, the shrew. She was supposed to be the cool girl, the one who could take any news and shrug it off.

“She came in to talk right before she graduated,” he said. “And we decided to mend the fence.”

“Mend the fence,” Delilah repeated.

“Put everything behind us. She asked for forgiveness.”

Delilah narrowed her eyes. “She’s a liar.”

Greg sipped his beer. The mooniness was disappearing. “Well, she’s not twenty-one.”

“No shit,” Delilah said. “And you made me let her into the bar. I could be fired for that. The Begonia could be shut down.”

“Oh, please,” Greg said.

“I just don’t get you,” Delilah said.

“Sure you do, Ash.”

“No,” Delilah said. “I don’t. Were you telling me the truth about that night with April? The whole fucking truth?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Nobody believes me.”

“I would like you so much better if you just admitted you were lying. I wouldn’t even care if you said you fucked her that night. Just as long as you told me the truth.”

“Tess feels the same way,” Greg said. “But I have nothing to add or detract from my story. It stands. And at this point, it is dried up. It is burned, Delilah. There is no reason to talk about it any further.”

“Except that April came in tonight.”

“Like I said, we mended the fence.”

Delilah’s head was spinning. Graham, behind the bar, was a hologram. Thom and Faith were studiously pretending to watch a rerun of Law & Order which was playing on the TV over the bar, but really, Delilah knew, they were listening to every word. She didn’t care. She put her head down on the bar.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” she said.

Greg rubbed her back, but his touch lacked intention. “Sure I do, Ash,” he said. He finished his beer and set the glass down with some purpose.

“Will you play for me?” Delilah asked.

“Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight I have to get home.”

Right, she thought. Big anniversary tomorrow. He had made it by the skin of his teeth through year number twelve.

He stood to leave and Delilah stood as well, thinking, Change your mind! Stay here! Play for me! Would he change his mind? Sometime before he reached his car, would he call out to her?

He did not. He climbed into his beat-up 4Runner, which was parked down the block from Delilah’s Rubicon, and he drove out of town.

She did not mean to follow him. They lived only half a mile away from each other, and even though he was way up ahead, she noticed that he did not turn left onto Somerset Lane the way he would have to to go home. He kept going straight. He was headed for Cisco Beach.

Was this it, then? Her cue? Did he know she was behind him? Was she supposed to follow him? She checked her cell phone for a text message: nothing. She followed him anyway, around a bend that gave her vertigo. She put on her turn signal and pulled over to the side of the road. She was very drunk; she should not be driving. If the police got hold of her, she would fail the breathalyzer. She was so drunk she would break the thing. Greg sped away, oblivious. In so many ways he was just a boy. What was she doing? She had a man at home—Jeffrey. Jeffrey was too old and Greg was too young. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t chase Greg like this. She had to get home to bed, she had the twins tomorrow, and she liked to be on top of her game when she had the twins. If she gave the kids free run of the PlayStation while she took a nap, Tess would hear about it. Delilah was so drunk, she could not trust herself to be fortresslike with Greg. She would give in to him tonight, of all nights, and it would end up a mess. It would ruin everything.

Turn around!

Such good advice, but Delilah ignored it. Greg’s taillights were two red pinpricks in the distance, and then he rounded the curve by Sandole’s fish store and disappeared from view. Delilah followed at a law-abiding pace.

She was a cat, Jeffrey always said, because she could see in the dark. It was one of her many unsung talents, and tonight it was a talent she was grateful for. She was four or five hundred yards away when she spotted two cars parked at the end of Cisco Beach. Two cars: one was Greg’s 4Runner, and the other was a white Jeep Cherokee.

Delilah swung into the next driveway. A voice was screaming in her head—no words, just screaming. She looked again. She was very, very drunk, an unreliable witness. Yes, it was a white Jeep Cherokee. April’s car. Greg had come to Cisco Beach, to their spot—his and Delilah’s—to meet April Peck, and… what? Mend some more of that fence?

Screaming.

Delilah backed the car out of the driveway, turned around, and headed for home.

She vowed she would never speak to him again. She didn’t care what kind of rift it caused within the group. Greg MacAvoy was a rat bastard and Delilah would not speak to him.

The next morning Tess showed up at a little after nine to drop off the twins. Delilah felt like absolute crap; she had vomited up the contents of her stomach in a lurid cabernet hue. She had cried, and spilled her guts to Jeffrey. She was leaden, her head ached, her stomach was puckered like a lemon, her balance was off, she was exhausted. She had not slept for a minute. She could not stop thinking of the two cars, side by side, and then the imagined scene between Greg and April Peck that followed.