Just One Night, Part 2_ Exposed(42)

“I took care of Dave,” I say coolly. “Just like I said I would.”

“So he’s not going to go running to Freeland, crying about his girlfriend cheating on him with the big, bad Mr. Dade? Well done! I underestimated you.”

“Which is another thing you should apologize for.” I sip my wine. An awkward young anchorman is relaying true stories of Stranger Danger.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Tom says. “I’m sorry. But that doesn’t change the crux of what I’m saying. No one is making you do anything, but don’t throw an entire relationship away just to make a point.”

“You’re doing it again,” I say.

“Doing what?”

“Underestimating me. Do you really think I can’t see through this? You’re changing your wording, not the message. You want me to keep seeing Robert Dade because it benefits you. My heart is of no interest to you at all.”

“Now that’s not fair . . . at least it’s not entirely fair. I do want you to enjoy your romance because I like you. My apologies and advice are as legitimate as your accusations and anger. But at some point you’re going to have to accept that we have a symbiotic relationship. If I advise you to follow your heart and you listen, everyone wins. Yes, my motivations are mostly selfish but I don’t see how that changes anything.”

This is probably as PC as Tom gets. That’s not saying much, but the fact that he’s trying is telling. “You really want more Maned Wolf accounts, don’t you?”

“Well, aren’t you quick.”

I laugh despite myself. “I don’t want to ever hear about that night that you saw . . . I don’t want to talk about how that dress. . . .” I blush and grit my teeth, angry with my own embarrassment. “Just don’t ever mention it again, all right?” I finally manage.

“Never,” he says quickly. “That’s a promise.”

I wish I could make him promise not to think of it ever again, too. I could ask him to say he won’t, but I’m so tired of lies and false denials. I know Tom has relived that moment a thousand times. I know in his fantasies he was not so honorable. I know that when he looks at me now, that image leaps to the forefront of his mind. My humiliation prickles my skin, makes me squirm a bit, but at least my humiliation is real. And for the first time in my life I’m able to acknowledge what I’m really feeling rather than denying it and pretending to have neater emotions.

“I haven’t ended things with Mr. Dade. I have no plans to do so.”

“You’ll tell me if and when you do? Just so I can prepare myself and the firm?”

“That’s a promise,” I say, mimicking his words and tone.

I can almost hear Tom’s smile. “You’re a treasure, Kasie.”

“Good-bye, Tom.”

I hang up the phone.

On the television children are being tested. The journalist says that these tests prove that even the most responsible child will accept the invitation of a stranger if the incentive is strong and the lie is smooth. Children are impulsive, the journalist says. And when approached by a well-dressed, charming adult who speaks with authority, they will respond. They will forget what they’ve been taught, forget the warnings and follow the stranger to danger.

I look down at the shirt I wear as a nightgown, feeling like a child.





CHAPTER 15





THE NIGHT STRETCHES ON. Around eleven I go to sleep restlessly. My dreams are jumbled and disquieting.

In one I’m in the back of a limo with Dave by my side . . . except he’s a ghost; I can only see his outline.

“Did I kill you?” I ask as the limo takes one sharp turn and then another.

He just smiles with transparent lips. “There’s so much to fear in this world,” he says with a laugh.

Except it’s not his laugh; he speaks with my sister’s voice. Panicked, I try to get out, scurry to the other side of the limo, and attempt to open the doors, but they’re locked.

“Silly.” Her voice murmurs in my ear even though Dave has not moved. “It’s not me that you have to be scared of! That would be like being scared of yourself!”

“I’m nothing like you,” I say to her, to Dave, to anyone who will listen.

“Really?” the voice says teasingly. “Tell it to Mr. Dade.”

The dreams go on like that. Nightmares and phantasms, clashes with invisible opponents. I wake up a few times, tangled in the sheets as if I had been combating the bed itself. It’s not until well after two that my mind finally escapes from the alarming images and lets me fall into a deep, continuous sleep.