The Last Dead Girl by Harry Dolan Page A

thing I noticed when she came onto the balcony: the sunlight glinting on the diamond.
    â€œI’ve missed you,” she said.
    I sipped my coffee so I wouldn’t have to answer her right away. Because there were a couple of answers I could have given.
I’ve missed you too—
that was one way to go.
I haven’t thought of you at all—
that was another. The truth was somewhere in the middle. I’d thought of her, but not enough, not as much as I should have.
    We’d been apart for ten days, and though I had visited the apartment on those days, I had always managed to come at times when she was out, working her crazy intern’s schedule. She had called my cell phone, three or four times a day at first, then less as time passed. I left the calls unanswered.
    â€œThis can’t go on,” she said.
    I put the coffee down. “I know.”
    â€œI feel terrible.”
    â€œI know that too.”
    â€œIt hasn’t happened again. With Brad. If you’re wondering. Or with anyone else. Just to be clear.”
    â€œSophie—”
    â€œAnd it won’t. I promise you. So the question is: Can we work this out? What do I have to do, to get you back here?”
    The coffee called to me again, because I needed a delay, an excuse not to answer. I left the mug on the balcony rail.
    â€œI need to tell you something,” I said, “about what happened that night.” I almost called it the Night of the Doe, but that wouldn’t have meant anything to her. For me and Sophie, it was something else. The Night of the Condom Wrapper.
    â€œAll right,” she said.
    â€œAfter I left here, I went driving. And I met someone.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œI didn’t mean to. It was an accident.” I gave her the story, as much of it as she needed: the rain and the deer and the girl.
    She listened with a frozen expression, and I thought she wouldn’t say anything. But after a time she said, “What’s her name?”
    â€œJana Fletcher.”
    â€œAnd that’s where you’ve been, all these nights? With her?”
    â€œYes.”
    Sophie turned away from me and leaned on the railing. I looked at the ring on her finger. The sun was still shining, but it couldn’t find the diamond.
    â€œThat first night,” she said, “when you didn’t come home, I got worried. Part of me knew you had a good reason to stay away. You were upset about what happened. But part of me thought that you’d gone out in the dark and the rain and wrapped your truck around a tree. All because of a dumb thing I did.”
    Sophie chuckled, an unexpected sound. “I actually went in to the hospital, to make sure you weren’t there. Then later on, when you didn’t come home and didn’t call, I got mad. I thought you were acting like a child. But when I saw you today I thought everything might be all right.” Her head bowed and her hair obscured her face. “Now you’ve knocked the wind out of me. Is this how you felt that night, when you found out about Brad?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen I’m sorry I did that to you. You must hate me.”
    â€œI don’t hate you, Sophie. I was hurt, but I’m past it.”
    â€œYou are?”
    â€œSo you shouldn’t blame yourself for it. You shouldn’t get bogged down in regret. I don’t blame you, and I don’t regret it.”
    Sophie stood up from the railing and faced me. “You don’t?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “I think maybe it was meant to happen. Maybe we had to go through this. If we hadn’t, I never would have met her.”
    Which is not the thing to say to a woman who’s wearing your ring.
    What happened next—I didn’t see it coming. One moment Sophie’s hand was resting on the railing, the next it was moving fast. She hit me twice. First with her palm—a light slap that surprised me more than it hurt me. Surprised