Twisted River by Siobhan MacDonald Page B

that . . . Oh, Hazel, this just isn’t right.”
    They usually met in the diner on the corner of Broadway and West Seventy-fifth or in the coffee shop with squashy sofas on Amsterdam. Today it was the diner. It was busy with the din of jabbering tourists and locals, the sound of food being prepared, and loud orders being exchanged.
    â€œThis does not look good at all.” Elizabeth sat down and leaned over to move Hazel’s fringe aside to better examine the damage. “Your eye? Is that eye okay?”
    â€œIt looks worse than it feels, believe me.”
    Elizabeth was her longest-serving friend in New York. Hazel had met her when they were both doing an internship with Reuters. Even though their paths had split, they’d always managed to stay in touch.
    â€œYou could have a detached retina. You think of that? I’m assuming you’ve had it checked?”
    Elizabeth scrutinized her and sighed. “Hazel, you haven’t had it checked?” She paused, sliding her heavy black-rimmed glasses back up her nose. “Oh, honey, I just don’t know what to say. Really, I don’t.”
    It wasn’t often that Elizabeth was lost for words, and seeing her so made Hazel feel worse. Hazel was struggling to contain the feelings that washed over her. She stared out the window at a crew unloading sets for the theater next door while Elizabeth placed her order.
    â€œNot that there’s any excuse, but what exactly sparked it off?” Elizabeth asked gently.
    â€œOh, Elizabeth, do these things ever need to be about anything?” Hazel shrugged. “Some slight or other . . .”
    Combined with the shock, it angered her that they should even try to find a logic to rationalize such behavior. Elizabeth leaned back in her chair as the waitress set down the strawberry pancakes.
    â€œThanks, Anita,” Elizabeth said, smiling.
    â€œYou ladies okay for everything now?” replied the waitress.
    â€œYes, thank you, Anita,” Hazel said, nodding. The waitress tried her best not to stare at the bruise again. But in her effort to ignore it, she made her curiosity all the more obvious. No doubt she’d liaise with Du Bois later. Anita was Du Bois’s sister.
    â€œAnita makes me feel like one of the clients in the soup kitchen,” remarked Hazel.
    â€œI assume you’re not volunteering tonight?” said Elizabeth. “I know you want to go to school but you can skip the soup run, right?”
    â€œYeah . . .”
    Hazel ran a finger lightly over the crusted gash on her forehead. She felt each knobbly granule along its path. She’d already decided to give the soup kitchen a miss. She didn’t want to give Oscar another excuse to get worked up.
    Elizabeth was cutting the strawberries into tiny pieces and wrapping each piece into a pancake fold. Hazel sipped at her Americano.
    â€œLook, hon, I’ve been tossing and turning about this ever since you called me last night. There’s nothing else for it. You’re going to have to go to the authorities.” Elizabeth dabbed a dribble of cream at the corner of her mouth.
    â€œI think you’re wrong, Elizabeth.”
    Elizabeth stared at her hard now.
    â€œHazel, are you saying you’re not going to report this?”
    â€œNo.” She paused. “I know you don’t agree, but I’ve given it a lot of thought as well, and I think it would only make things worse.”
    â€œHazel, hon, you’re making a big mistake. The only thing that’sgoing to make this worse is not reporting it. This has to be stopped. He’s going to think he can keep on doing it. And what happens next time?”
    â€œThere won’t be a next time.” The strong coffee was kicking in now. She should really have had a decaf.
    â€œOh, Hazel, how can you be so sure?” Elizabeth wasn’t going to let it go.
    The truth was she couldn’t. But she’d