Chapter 11

Jennifer ordered, the girl left, and Margaret said, “No, I’ve never worn that in the US. I got it on a trip to France and wore it to the beach, and it’s been in a drawer ever since.”

Jennifer nodded with the same expression she had when Margaret thought she heard, that’s sad.

“Why’d you ask?”

“No reason,” Jennifer said. “It just popped into my mind, imagining him finding out how hot you really are. Not that he doesn’t already think that.”

“Does he?”

“Oh yeah.” Jennifer grinned and leaned in. “As much as he talked about you, I was sure you ... you and Tony, you know, might have had a thing.”

“A thing, really? That’s funny. Anthony acted like he might have been interested, but he was testing me.”

“Yeah.” Jennifer pursed her lips and gave an abrupt nod. “Not sure that was a test until you didn’t take the bait.”

Margaret considered it, thinking about how close she and Tony were and his mannerisms and innuendos, then she thought about how much like Jennifer she was back then. What if she had fucked Tony seven years ago? What course change would have happened, and where would she be today?

They reached for the appetizer plate at the same time, and their hands touched. That was the first of several inadvertent touches that seemed to change the atmosphere, at least in Margaret’s mind.

After dinner, with their shoes in their hands, Jennifer and Margaret went down to the beach. The bright moon gave the ocean an alluring appeal. The small white caps breaking offshore seemed brighter, and Margaret felt more attuned to the sounds they made.

Jennifer suggested they sit for a while and they ended up side by side, in the same position, their knees pulled up to their chests. The sand was cool on the surface, but when Margaret screwed her hands down into it, it was warm. She lifted a handful and let it spill through her fingers. Jennifer did the same, except hers poured over her feet.

“About Kansas,” Jennifer said.

“Wait.” Margaret put her hand on Jennifer’s knee and was about to pull it back because it seemed too intimate a gesture, but Jennifer put her hand on top of it. “Everybody has a past,” Margaret said, thinking about the envelope in her purse for the thousandth time since they left the house.

Every time the thought had come, Margaret felt more horrible about it. It wasn’t just the realization that she had no right and was the last person who should be dragging someone’s past up. It was how much Margaret enjoyed Jennifer’s company. She always had and always liked the girl, but her fears and suspicions had tainted her feelings.

Now that they had started to open up to each other, Margaret knew her feelings for Jennifer were stronger, and she didn’t want to find things out about her. She wanted to learn more about Jennifer from Jennifer, spend more time with her, and see where things went.

If there was something “bad,” then what? Tell Anthony and lose Jennifer as a friend, or don’t tell Anthony and watch them get married and lose Jennifer anyway.

Margaret continued, “It seems more than ever, maybe because of the internet, that it’s okay to bring up someone’s past or hold it against them. I don’t want to be like that. I’m the last person who should be like that.”

Jennifer said, “Yeah, the internet,” and went back to watching her toes wiggle in the sand.

“I’m not the person I used to be.”

“I think you still are ... I think Meg is still in there. No, I’m sure she is.”

Margaret pulled her hand out from under Jennifer’s. “What ... what are you saying?”

“Whenever Tony would talk about you, he said Meg ... Meg this and Meg that and how pretty and fun Meg is. That day when I finally met you and hugged you, it was Meg I was hugging. Meg was the person I felt like I knew. And whenever we’re together, alone, I see a lot of Meg.”

Margaret’s brain told her she should be incensed, defending Margaret, wife of Andre, but her eyes stung with the truth her heart was screaming. “I really like Meg,” Jennifer said.

So do I, Margaret thought. She hadn’t realized that until lately, but she did, she missed Maggie. “There’s a lot about Meg you don’t know.”

“Me too,” Jennifer said. “I’m not from Kansas.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Margaret put her hand back on Jennifer’s knee and looked her in the eyes. “I was a stripper when I met Andre.”

The words she had dreaded ever having to say again had no noticeable effect on Jennifer. She said, “Technically, I still am.”