Done what to? I wanted to ask. But I didn’t because the question felt too personal, the answer too obvious. Instead I said, “Well, thank you for calling and telling me this.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence. And this time she outwaited me as I babbled, “I … I guess I don’t know what to say …”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said. “And please believe that I’m not trying to hurt your relationship. This is about helping you. And him.”
“Okay,” I said, now desperate to get off the phone.
“Can I ask you for one favor?” she said.
“Okay,” I said again.
“Please don’t tell him I called you.”
“I won’t,” I said, even though I didn’t owe her my allegiance, especially not over Ryan. Yet I had the feeling that I was going to keep her secret—and didn’t have a good feeling about what that meant.
“I just want to move on with my life … But I had to tell you. I wish his girlfriend before me had said something … You know?”
I said I did, picturing Tish Termini, Ryan’s first serious college girlfriend, a petite Italian girl who was as beautiful as Blakeslee but in a slightly trashy way. I remembered her well, flaunting her toned, tanned body around campus, wearing colorful push-up bras under white tank tops, and Daisy Dukes paired with cowboy boots. Everyone knew they had a turbulent, on-again, off-again relationship, but I’d never heard a single word about him hitting her. I put it in the column of evidence suggesting that Blakeslee might be lying or exaggerating, realizing that, no matter what, I was going to feel guilty. Either guilty for denigrating Ryan without a chance to defend himself, or guilty for thinking that any woman would lie about something so serious.
“Well. Thank you again for calling, Blakeslee,” I finally said.
“You’re welcome,” she said. And then—“I’m so sorry.”
I said goodbye and hung up, thinking about her last words: I’m so sorry. There was something about them that was both poignant and telling. She really did sound sorry, although I wasn’t sure if she felt sorry for me, herself, or Ryan.
That afternoon, I went to Lucy’s shop to give her the update. I did not editorialize, reporting only the facts of the conversation. What Ryan said. What Blakeslee said. What I said.
The first question she asked cut right to the crux of the matter: “Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so … But I wonder … I mean, he did get really jealous over Miller.”
“Lots of people get jealous,” Lucy said. “Especially at the beginning of a relationship, when people are at their most insecure. Neil used to get so jealous. We look back and laugh about it now. It was ridiculous …”
“I know. But this was different,” I said, remembering the look on Ryan’s face when he made me promise not to see anyone but him.
“Are you sure you’re not just saying that now that you heard all this mess from Blakeslee?” Lucy asked.
“Maybe,” I said.
“You have to remember … he’s probably been burned before. Girls constantly using him. Liking him for the wrong reasons. Just because he’s famous and gorgeous doesn’t mean that he hasn’t been hurt.”
“True.”
“So if that’s true, could you really blame him for being possessive? Or a little insecure? Maybe you should take it as a compliment that he cares.”
I nodded, definitely seeing her point.
“Besides, she really could be making the whole thing up,” Lucy said. “Don’t you have to give him the benefit of the doubt?”
“And assume she’s lying?” I said. “Assume that the woman is lying about domestic violence? That’s pretty dangerous terrain, Luce.”
“Well, isn’t that what our justice system is based upon? Innocent until proven guilty rather than the other way around?” she said, nailing all the highlights of my internal monologue.
I shrugged, staring out the window onto Main Street, a block I knew by heart, store by store, brick by brick.
“How about this for a plan?” she said, talking slowly in her takecharge voice. “How about you give him a chance? And the very first sign, the smallest shove or tiniest hint of a temper … you end things.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering how to define a hint of temper.
“Can I discuss this with Neil?” Lucy said. It was a question she always asked, and one I appreciated, but, at this point, it wasn’t necessary. I always said yes, viewing Neil as an extension of Lucy in almost all respects.