Damn Didi for making Jenn do the dirty work. “I know this hurts. I’m sorry,” she offered, wishing that there were better words, some magic formula to make him whole. “I trusted you,” he yelled, his hands balled into fists, and he stood there, with the ocean in the distance, the holiday traffic buzzing by, and yelled at her about trust. Calmly she kept her eyes focused on the road, the sparkles of the sand, anything but the rage in his eyes. He was hurt, lashing out at whatever was near. She couldn’t take this personally. “I’m not the one who betrayed your trust,” she pointed out quite logically. “You need to take this up with Didi.” “I don’t care about Didi. This is about you. We don’t have secrets, Jennifer. I thought you knew that. I thought you were honest with me.” We don’t have secrets? It was at that point that she lost some of the rational calmness, because she had spent the entire summer telling herself that he needed space and time to grow.
