Then she led me inside to the familiar site of our serious conversations, the love seat, which sat against a cream stucco wall in her Spanish-style home. “I’ll be right back,” she said, hurrying into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a glass of water, as well as a damp towel that she mopped over my face and arms. And I sobbed out my story. “He never stopped loving her, did he?” I wept. “Shh, Elaine. Shh.” “You knew! You warned me he might just be going with me because I was her sister.” “But I was wrong. Anybody who’s seen you and Danny together wouldn’t doubt that he loves you. Danny and Barbara, I don’t know. There’s just something between them.” “Sex?” “Oy. Any eighteen-year-old boy, it’s sex. Elaine.” She searched my eyes. “You and Danny, have you …” “I wanted to! Today. That’s why I …” And Barbara got there first. Oh! I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I’d been focusing my hurt and anger on Danny. Now the sense of betrayal shifted to Barbara, and I was shattered.
