Betty buries her face in her hands, and my mind jumps back to that awful day almost a year ago. How Mama and Grandma and I spent hours in front of the television sobbing, even though Grandma always said she didn’t trust President Kennedy because he was a Catholic. And then how Juanita and I whispered and smoked on her porch into the early hours of the morning, trying to imagine how the country could go on without that handsome man in charge.
Diane and I don’t move as Betty sobs into her hands. Finally I look over at Diane. She is crying as well. Something about all of it makes my throat ache, too. I can’t help it.
‘Betty,’ Diane says, standing up, walking toward her. ‘Betty, I’m …’ Her voice trails off into a whisper. Diane wraps Betty in her arms. ‘Oh … I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
I light a cigarette, unsure what else to do with myself. Betty and Diane hold each other for a moment until Betty pulls back and looks Diane in the eyes.
‘No, Diane, I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I let you down. I was a rotten friend.’
‘No, you’re right … I was the rotten one,’ says Diane. ‘I got caught up with Johnny. Betty, I do love him, but … I didn’t stop and think about you. And you had to keep it all a secret, and you did. You never betrayed us and you could have. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Betty wipes her eyes with her fingers, sniffles hard. She nods. ‘It’s all right,’ she manages. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
Diane takes a deep, shaky breath and moves to sit next to me on the couch. ‘No, it still matters. But, Betty,’ she says, her voice cracking, ‘Betty … why didn’t you … why didn’t you come see me? Didn’t you ever guess how … alone I was?’
Betty closes her eyes. ‘Oh, Diane,’ she manages. ‘Diane, I wanted to … Mother and Dad. You know how they are. And I never had the guts. I never had whatever it is you have, Diane, that makes you so unafraid.’
Diane tips her head back and offers up a soft laugh. ‘Unafraid. Hardly. I’ve spent the last year practically terrified.’
Betty doesn’t respond. At least not with words. She reaches out for Diane, takes her hands in hers. The two girls offer each other shy smiles. I take a slow drag of my cigarette and my eyes fall on Diane’s confession on the coffee table, staring at us.
I offer a soft cough, then push Diane’s letter just a bit with my fingertips as I move to stub out my smoke.
Betty notices and takes a deep breath, gently lets go of Diane, and accepts the letter from me.
‘I’m going to give this to my father,’ she says, her voice firm. ‘And I’ll explain to him everything the both of you have shared with me tonight. I’ll tell him he has to let Johnny go.’
Diane smiles and reaches over to squeeze Betty’s hand in gratitude. I wait for my body to sink with relief, but it doesn’t. What does this mean for Diane and me? Where will we go? Where will we hide?
But Betty answers my questions for me. ‘Listen,’ she says, and she begins to change back into the savvy, world-weary young woman who first popped her head out of her bedroom window, ‘y’all cannot run off somewhere. Not to Mexico or Oklahoma or anywhere. That’s ridiculous and dangerous with no set place to stay, plus it just makes you look suspicious. It’s safer to stay put. Find a place to hide, but don’t leave town. I know I can convince Dad that what Diane did was only because she had to.’ She pauses, then scowls, her eyes darkening. ‘The truth is, I remember how Preston Fowler could get when he’d had too much to drink. So could a lot of girls at school, I’ll bet.’
‘Betty,’ Diane says, her eyes widening. ‘You went on a few dates with him, didn’t you?’
Betty frowns at the memory, then shakes her head like she’s trying to get rid of it. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘He wasn’t a gentleman when he’d had his share of alcohol. That much is certain. Of course it didn’t help that his parents let him get away with everything he ever did. No one ever set limits on that boy or led him to believe he needed to consider other people. Ever.’ At this she looks over at me, holds my gaze in hers.
‘Evie, it wasn’t right what he did,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you.’
Something about Betty’s voice – the way she makes this declaration with such authority – makes my throat ache again, and I whisper, ‘Thank you.’
Betty nods, sure of herself. She gets back to what Diane and I should do next.
‘But listen, I’m serious, don’t leave town and certainly don’t leave the country,’ she continues. ‘It’s too risky. I’d be willing to give you my car, of course, but … it’s far too dangerous for you two to be running all over creation. Do you have a place you can hide in the meantime?’
Diane glances at me, her bleary, bloodshot eyes searching mine.
‘Part of me still feels we should just run away,’ she says, her voice starting to break.
I shake my head. ‘Betty’s right. It’s too risky, and it really could make us look worse. I think I know what to do,’ I say, an idea building inside me, ‘but we need to go see Connie first.’
‘Who is Connie?’ Betty asks.
Diane exhales, then laughs softly. ‘Just you wait and see,’ she says.
Betty told Diane she was impressed by how unafraid Diane seemed to be, but in the end she turns out fairly fearless herself. After she convinces us we need to stay in Houston, she drives us back to our neighborhood in her brand-new cherry-red Mustang, by far the nicest car I’ve ever been in. From the back seat I can imagine her taking in our side of town, her eyes probably widening at how different our modest homes and postage-stamp lawns are compared to the palaces of River Oaks. But she doesn’t say anything rude.
‘You should take us to our friend Sunny’s,’ I say. ‘Connie and Juanita were going to hang out there tonight, I’m pretty sure.’ I give Betty the directions, and soon we’re in front of Sunny’s two-bedroom house on Leeland Street. The porch light is on. My mind flashes back to Betty’s home on Chevy Chase Drive. Six bedrooms!
‘You should come in, too,’ I tell Betty. ‘Meet the girls and catch them up on the plan.’
Betty glances at Diane, who nods in agreement, before gazing at Sunny’s place. I wonder if she’s thinking it’s smaller than her guesthouse.
‘Are you sure they won’t mind meeting me?’ she asks, shifting her eyes to the rearview mirror and checking her hair and lipstick.
‘It’ll be fine,’ I say as I scoot out the back seat. But I cross my fingers briefly just in case.
Sunny’s mother is working the overnight shift at the hospital, and her drunk stepfather is passed out in his bedroom, but we huddle in Sunny’s tiny room for privacy anyway. Sunny locks the door tight with the dead bolt that Connie swiped for her from the hardware store a few years ago. She once told me she started locking it after she caught her creepy stepfather lingering near the bathroom whenever she got out of the shower. He’s the main reason none of us girls like hanging out at Sunny’s very much.
Connie is pacing with nerves, bouncing and smoking and circling the bed, where Diane and I are sitting with a nervous Betty, whose River Oaks coolness has fizzled completely and transformed into a clear anxiousness. Sunny and Juanita are seated cross-legged on Sunny’s rag rug.