“Done what?”
“Got up on the stage. Maybe Sebastian didn’t like it.”
“If he didn’t, it’s his problem. I thought it was funny,” The Mouse says firmly. We get into the car and she starts the ignition. We’re backing out when I bang my hand on the dashboard. “Stop the car.”
“What?” she says, hitting the brakes.
I scoot out of the car. “Something’s wrong. I need to apologize. Sebastian is pissed off. I can’t go home feeling like this.”
“Carrie, don’t!” The Mouse shouts, but it’s too late.
I pause inside the door, scanning the club. My eyes sweep the bar, and suddenly, I’m confused. They’re not here. How could they have managed to leave before we did? I take a few steps closer, and that’s when I realize I’m wrong. They are here. They’re still at the bar. But I didn’t recognize them at first because their faces are pressed together, bodies entwined, making out like they’re the last people left on earth.
This can’t be. I must be seeing things. I’ve had too much to drink.
“Hey,” I call out. My eyes aren’t fooling me: They are making out. But my mind still hasn’t processed the reality of the scene. “Hey,” I say again. “Hey!”
Their eyes swivel in my direction, and then, reluctantly it seems, they release their mouths. For a moment, everything is still, as if we’re frozen in a glass snow globe. And then I feel myself nod. Yes, says a voice in my head. You knew this was going to happen. You knew this was inevitable.
And then I hear myself speak. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” I start to turn, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Lali jump off the barstool, her mouth forming my name, while Sebastian reaches out and grabs her wrist.
I walk through the room and out the door. I don’t look back.
The Gremlin is idling outside the entrance. I get in and slam the door. “Let’s go.”
Halfway home, I ask The Mouse to stop the car again. She pulls over to the side of the road where I get out and am sick several times.
The downstairs lights are blazing when we finally creep into my driveway. I walk resolutely up the path and into the house, stopping at the door to the den. My father is sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. He looks up, closes the magazine, and places it carefully on the coffee table.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he says.
“Me too.” I’m grateful he doesn’t scold me about not calling at nine.
“How was the play?”
“Fine.” I picture a house of cards, each card imprinted with the words, “What if?” The cards begin to tumble, breaking apart and collapsing into a pile of ash.
What if Dorrit hadn’t run away? What if I’d been able to see Sebastian last night? What if I hadn’t gotten up on the stage and made a fool of myself?
What if I’d given Sebastian what he wanted? What if I’d had sex with him?
“Good night, Dad.”
“Good night, Carrie.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Girl Who…
A coffin. Except it isn’t really a coffin. It’s more like a boat. And it’s leaving. I have to get on it, but the people keep blocking my way. I can’t get around them and one of the people is Mary Gordon Howard. She grabs my coat sleeve and pulls me back. She jeers. “You’ll never get over it. You’ll be scarred for life. No man will ever love you—”
No. Nooooooooo.
Wake up. Feel like crap. Remember something bad happened last night.
Remember what it is.
Deny it is true.