Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

PRESENT DAY

SYDNEY

Gretchen and I have gone through an entire box of tissues tonight. And a bottle of wine.

After each glass of wine, our reminiscing about Bonnie has gotten more and more tearful. Gretchen's eyes and nose are red and puffy, and I'm sure I would look identical if I checked myself in the mirror. It's getting late, but she doesn't seem to want to leave. And I don't want her to leave.

"Did you ever see Bonnie practicing smiles?" Gretchen asks me.

"Practicing smiling?"

"Yes!" She manages her own smile through her tears. "I caught her doing it once in the mirror. She told me she liked to practice different smiles for different situations so she didn't look weird to people. Like, she had one smile if she was happy, obviously. And a different smile if she was trying to impress a client. And a different smile if someone was being silly."

"Wow," I say, "I had no idea! What smile do you think we were getting?"

Gretchen looks affronted. "The real smile, of course."

"Maybe…"

Although there's part of me that wonders if Bonnie had a side we didn't know about. Even though I got to know her pretty well, there was a part of Bonnie that I could never quite reach. Like, she was in love with Dr. McHottie, she wanted to be exclusive with him, and yet she never even told us his name or introduced him to us.

If she had, everything might have been different. Maybe he wouldn't have risked killing her if he knew her friends could identify him.

The thought of it makes me tear up all over again.

"Oh, hey." Gretchen digs around in her purse. "I brought something."

I grab another tissue and dab at my eyes. "What?"

Triumphantly, she pulls out two scrunchies. "Bonnie left these at my apartment. I thought we could wear them. In her honor, you know?"

I solemnly accept the scrunchie, lacing my hair through the fabric. Gretchen does the same. Of course, we both look ridiculous. Only Bonnie was able to rock a scrunchie.

Gretchen grabs her wine glass off my coffee table, which contains the remainder of the bottle of red wine that had been full this morning. "To Bonnie."

I tap my own wine glass against hers. "To Bonnie."

On that note, we both drain the rest of our wine. I wish we had another bottle. I need to keep another in the house, just in case any more of my close friends are murdered in the near future.

Gretchen takes a shaky breath. "I better get home. It is getting really late."

I don't want her to go, but I can't deny that it's close to midnight. I should try to go to bed, but I'm sure I'll just toss and turn. "Do you need to call an Uber?"

She shakes her head. "I'm going to spend the night at Randy's apartment."

Right, Gretchen doesn't have to spend the night alone like I do. "How is he doing?"

I still have mixed feelings about him, but I have to admit, Randy was a champ this morning. Once I started screaming, he was instantly at my side. I was ready to pass out, but he took charge. He led me into the living room, shutting the door to the bedroom behind him, and then placed a call to 911. I was practically hyperventilating at that point, but Randy was utterly calm. I was grateful at the time, although he must have been shaken.

"He's okay," Gretchen says. "He takes this kind of thing in stride."

He takes finding a mutilated dead body in stride? Okay…

"Anyway…" Gretchen rubs at her swollen eyes as she gets to her feet. "I'm going to head out, but let's talk tomorrow, okay?"

As I walk her to the door, all I can think is that I don't want Gretchen to leave. It's late, but I'm sure we can track down another bottle of wine. All I want is for Gretchen to stay in my apartment and reminisce with me more about Bonnie until my eyes finally drift shut.

But I can't stop her from going. She gives me a hug at the door, then I watch her make her way down the hallway to the elevator. I keep the door cracked open until she's gone.

And now I'm alone.

There are times when I love having an apartment all to myself. I've had some pretty bad roommates in the past, and I'm the sort of person who appreciates my solitude. But right now, I hate it. The apartment feels so empty. I feel absolutely and utterly alone.

Since the wine is gone, I go into my kitchen and locate the next best thing: a pint of ice cream. I check the flavor: mint chocolate chip. I hate mint chocolate chip. Considering I live alone, I'm not sure why the only ice cream I have in the freezer is a flavor I don't even like, but then I remember that Bonnie brought it over. We were having dinner together. I was the one cooking, and she was responsible for dessert. I gave her a hard time about bringing my least favorite flavor of ice cream, but her response was, It's ice cream, Sydney. Every flavor is good by definition.

Apparently, I will be wearing a scrunchie and eating mint chocolate chip ice cream in her honor.

I plop back down on the couch with my ice cream. It may not be my favorite flavor, but it still tastes pretty damn good. I mean, it's ice cream. You really can't go wrong.

As I'm stuffing myself, I reach for my phone. The first thing I do is bring up the Cynch app. This morning, I was looking for the Mystery Man—that feels like one hundred years ago. He is the furthest thing from my mind right now.

This time I type something very specific into the search bar. I type in the name Jacob Sousa.

And there he is.