The Ex by John Lutz Page B

the pigeons as she approached, and the two women sat down. They were in the shade, out of sight of Molly if she happened to jog past on the trail.
    Deirdre remembered when she’d first seen Darlene in New York, sitting on a suitcase in the bus terminal, looking at the rack of magazines in a nearby kiosk. She didn’t look lonely, but she seemed vulnerable. Deirdre had found herself drifting toward the magazine rack, knowing it wasn’t magazines that drew her. But it was Darlene who struck up a conversation, asking Deirdre if she was new to the city. As if Darlene couldn’t tell.
    “Molly yelled something at me when I started to pull away from her,” Darlene said, bringing Deirdre back to the present.
    “Was it my name?”
    “I don’t think so.” Darlene gave her that funny look again. “I thought you two hadn’t met. Why would she think I was you?”
    “She saw me once. She knows what I look like, more or less, wearing the cap and sunglasses I asked you to put on.”
    “Then that’s why she was trying so hard to catch up with me. You didn’t explain that part of the joke.”
    Deirdre watched a pigeon peck persistently at the hard earth, somehow knowing there was something beneath the surface worth getting at. “It wasn’t exactly a joke that we played on Molly.”
    “No, I guess not.” Darlene, too, was studying the pigeon. “I think what we did to her was cruel, Deirdre.”
    “You agreed to it.”
    “But I didn’t know then why you wanted to taunt her. Just because she’s married to David, that’s no way for you to behave. No way for you to win David back.”
    “David will never know about it.”
    “Yes he will. Molly will tell him.”
    “He won’t believe her. I can make sure of that.”
    “Is that your plan?” Darlene asked. “To drive a wedge between them?”
    “I hadn’t thought about it, but that wouldn’t be a bad plan.”
    “I disagree,” Darlene said. “Why don’t you face up to the fact that your relationship with David is over and get on with your life?”
    “That phrase about people getting on with their lives is the worst kind of psychobabble,” Deirdre said. “Unless we decide to commit suicide, none of us has any choice other than to get on with our life.”
    “It’s how we get on with life that’s important, Deirdre. We can accept fate and be content, or we can fight it and be miserable.”
    “It isn’t that simple!”
    Darlene looked around, embarrassed. “Shh. You’re raising your voice.”
    “You’re the one talking too loud,” Deirdre said. “People are staring.”
    “They’re staring at you, not me.” Darlene stood up from the bench. “I’m going now.”
    Deirdre suddenly felt guilty, unworthy. Darlene was one of those people who could do that to her. It was something she hadn’t counted on. “I suppose you’re mad at me now.”
    Darlene looked down at her, smiled, and shook her head. “No, it isn’t that. If I don’t leave, I’ll be late for dance class.”
    “You’re always dashing away somewhere so you won’t be late.”
    “I lead a busy life.”
    “Busier than mine.”
    “It doesn’t have to be that way, Deirdre. You’ll meet people, have fun. You’ll see.”
    “I’m not even sure that’s what I want.”
    “What do you want?” Darlene suddenly raised a forefinger to her lips. “No! Never mind, don’t tell me. There’s no time.” She began walking backward, grinning at Deirdre. “We’ll get together soon.”
    “When?”
    Without answering, Darlene lifted her arm in a wave, then spun gracefully to face the direction she was going.
    Deirdre sat and watched her walk away. After about fifty feet, Darlene began to jog. She ran with beautiful long strides and perfect balance, her head held high and not bouncing at all. All that ballet, Deirdre thought, as Darlene passed from sight.
    Deirdre continued staring after her. There was something about Darlene she didn’t like, she decided.
    And she knew what it was.
    Darlene was