Page 101 of Just Ten Seconds

The bartender puts a shot in front of me.

I wrap my hand around it. “I want to forget.”

“You ain’t gonna forget shit with a glass of tequila. Except your manners. No one’s ever made a good decision on Patrón. Now, Tito’s … that clear goodness can point you in the right direction in life.”

She lets out a light laugh and stops as I swallow the drink. The burn irritates my throat, and I make a gagging face as I adjust to the taste.

“ ‘Only promise me one thing. Don’t take me home until I’m drunk,’ ” I quote, raising a finger for the bartender to pour another. Luckily, the bottle is still in his hand. “ ‘Very drunk indeed.’ ”

Jackie’s mouth is pinched in worry. “While I adore you referencing Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I’m not liking this new you. All kidding aside, what’s going on?”

“Dean’s in love with me.” I suck the second one down fast and then shake my head at the strong aftertaste.

Jackie squeals. Her hands clap like a trained seal. “That’s so exciting! News like this usually calls for champagne.”

The bartender pours my third glass. I pump my hand, palm up, as if I were tilting the bottle up, urging him to pour that drink to the very top.

I lift the glass and speak to the clear liquid, “He told everyone at the meeting. You know, the bereavement group I’ve been going to. He expressed to a group of people tonight that he is finally able to move on from his dead wife’s passing because he met me.”

She holds up a hand. “Wait a minute. You go to a bereavement group?”

Oh, right. I left that part out. “Rita, my landlady, thought therapy would be healthy. I happened upon this group, and it felt good. Like, really good. I related to these people on a whole new level.”

“That’s great. You need to mourn. Your mother is always saying you have nothing to feel upset about.”

“I went because of Benjamin.”

“Why were you in a bereavement group because of Benjamin?” she asks and pauses for a second. Her back jerks as her hands rise, palm up, and her face widens with the realization. “Hold the phone. Did you tell those people that Benjamin was dead?”

I nod solemnly.

“And Dean goes to the same group you go to?”

I nod again and summon the bartender once more. “For weeks, I’ve let him believe Benjamin is dead.”

Jackie holds up a finger to the bartender. “Make that two.”

He pours her a shot, and together, we inhale the liquor. Our glasses slam onto the bar with a thud.

I run my hand through my hair and yank on the ends. He’s gonna hate me. How could he not? But it was all simple when it first began. My head falls into my hands. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I went to the meeting by accident, and I liked it. It wasn’t until after that I realized Dean was there. That’s the night we went for coffee, and I should have told him then. But I didn’t, and now … tonight, listening to him talk about Nicole. About the pain he went through. The pain he thinks I relate to. My pain is nothing in comparison. I’m a monster.”

Jackie—ever the pragmatic one, the girl who is always looking for the silver lining—squares her shoulders and turns to me. “Well, the good news is, you’re always worried about people recognizing you. I guess you’re not as famous as you thought.”

I give her a menacing glance. “This is no time for jokes.”

“This doesn’t have to be so bad,” she talks over the music. “I mean, it’s a harmless misunderstanding. The motherfucker—” She pauses and explains, “Benjamin, not Dean. The motherfucker is dead.”

“Pretending Benjamin is dead is nothing like Dean’s wife dying of cancer.”

Her eyes close at the word. No one wishes cancer on their enemies, let alone the mother of a child who we’ve both come to adore in our own way. “You’re right. But let’s regroup here. You said he loves you. He told a room full of people that?”

I nod and feel the swell in my heart rise and fall just as fast. “Jackie, he told a room full of people that after he explained that his wife was supposed to be a recipient of a medical grant. A grant I figured out had been denied because Benjamin was managing the funds.”

I’ve always known the names of the companies that were impacted. We managed them at the office. Their logos and headers were on every paper that moved across my desk. My—now I know—fraud of a menial desk.

What I tried to stay away from—what Jackie kept me away from before I drove myself crazy—were the individuals. The civilians, the ones who lost pensions and 401(k)s, and the helpless receiving benefits from charity.

Now, I have a name and a face.