Page 98 of The Book of Summer

“I’m not sure I buy that one, sweetie,” Palmer says, and pops up onto her feet. “You still have a thing for him. Who wouldn’t?”

She moves toward the windows. The floor moans despite Palmer’s slight weight. At once Bess is filled with gratitude for this place, which most owners would’ve tried to update by now. It’s creaky and warped and vaguely musty, last renovated ninety years ago. Only the locker rooms have changed, and not by much. Truly, the place is approaching the last stop of charmingville, refurbishtown straight ahead. Dozens of weddings are held at the casino every year, but Bess thinks there must be twice as many couples who eliminate the venue because the main room is too dark. But all that wood looks gorgeous when decked out with white tables and chairs, twinkle lights strung overhead.

“Dang it,” Palmer says, peering through the glass. “More clouds are rolling in. Why don’t you ask him?”

“Ask him what? If he has a girlfriend?” Bess makes a face. “I can’t.”

“Why not? It’s an ordinary question. You get a pedicure and they bring it up fifty-seven times.You have boyfriend?”

“I don’t know,” Bess says. “I could’ve a few days ago but now it’d be weird. We’ve spent a lot of time together.”

Palmer jerks her head in Bess’s direction. Her ponytail flicks against the glass.

“Oh, realllly? How much time? Do tell.”

“Hours. Half a day. We’ve had a lot of… intense conversations. It’d be like screwing some dude and then asking for his name.”

“You guys did it?!”

Palmer turns all the way to face Bess, her skirt fanning out behind her. The court-brushing boys are straining themselves to eavesdrop, albeit not owing to any interest in Bess’s love life. They’ve likely never heard a grown woman refer to sex as “doing it.”

“Shhh!” Bess says, laughing. “No we didn’tdoit. I was using a metaphor.”

“Heck of a metaphor. Does he know about Brandon?”

Bess nods.

“And the…”

Palmer rubs her fingers together. Is she making the sign for money? Bess is perplexed. Then again, the women were paid, so…

“If you’re referring to the hookers, then yes,” she says.

“And the…”

Palmer makes a hammering motion.

“Construction? Tools?”

“The abuse,” Palmer stage-whispers.

Bess reddens all the way to her hairline. The boys gawp and scuffle away.

“Okay, it really wasn’t.” Bess mimics the pounding. “I mean, not in the usual way.”

“Humph,” answers Palmer.

“And yes I told him Brandon was a jerk, more or less. He even knows about the—”

The words are partway up Bess’s throat but she swallows them back down. Evan knows about the pregnancy. But aside from Bess and Brandon, he’s the only one.

Though Palmer is her go-to confidant, Bess has to be careful what she tells her. Not because Palmer would spill a secret in a million years or for a million dollars. No, it’s something else, something not even Bess fully understands. Things seem to go awry when Palmer is in on a secret. To tell her is like writing it in a journal. It doesn’t become public but the mere act forces you to confront the truth. And sometimes the truth is ugly, uglier yet when compared to Palmer.

“He knows about everything,” Bess says, before Palmer can press for more. “At this point it’d be odd to spring the ‘do you have a girlfriend’ question. That’s like lame high-school-reunion banter.”

“I guess.” Palmer shrugs. “I’d still ask him though.”

“I’m sure you would.”

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