Free The Friends We Keep by Holly Chamberlin Page A

“I’m not you.”
    Sophie put her hand on John’s arm. “John, Eva doesn’t remember wanting to write children’s books. Can you believe that?”
    â€œI can believe most things,” John replied with a grin. To me, he said: “I remember you kept notebooks of story ideas. And sketches, which, by the way, were really lousy.”
    â€œYou read my private notebooks?” I demanded. Suddenly, I had a vision of the ratty, paisley-print satchel in which I’d carried my school stuff. I wouldn’t be caught dead with that satchel now.
    â€œI looked over your shoulder from time to time,” John said, with absolutely no shame. “Now that I think about it, I remember one story idea. Something about a sculptor, a woman, sort of a twist on the Pygmalion thing.”
    I had absolutely no memory of that story, or of any others. Where, I wondered, were those notebooks? I imagined I’d thrown them out at some point. Without my parents’ basement for storage—of course, I’d had to sell the house immediately after their deaths—I’d had little room for childhood memorabilia. Dolls, games, most had gone out in the trash. Anything of any value, like a small desk painted white with yellow daisies, had gone to a resale shop. But the notebooks?
    â€œYou would have made a good writer,” Sophie said.
    Would I have? “Things change,” I said, dismissively. “We were kids then, young and naive.”
    â€œYoung, maybe,” John replied, “but not naive. At least, when it came to a career path. I knew I wanted to be a lawyer ever since high school and I’ve never regretted that decision.”
    â€œAnd I knew I wanted to have a family,” Sophie said. “I’ve never regretted having my son.”
    â€œWhat about having married Brad?” I asked. “Do you ever regret that?” It seemed a reasonable question but John raised an eyebrow at me.
    Sophie didn’t answer immediately. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t regret marrying Brad. He’s the father of my child and he’s basically a good person. Things just didn’t . . . last. Besides, I don’t understand how any woman could regret marrying the father of her child!”
    John took a slow sip of his wine before he said: “If you’d met the number of abused women I have, you might understand. Especially when your jaw has been broken and the child support is late because your ex-husband has spent all his money on drugs. You might very well regret ever having met the father of your child.”
    â€œYou’ve been lucky, Sophie,” I said.
    â€œI’m sure Sophie earned what good things she has in her life,” John said with a pointed look in my direction.
    â€œOh, I know what Eva means,” Sophie said. “But I’d say blessed rather than lucky.”
    I laughed. “Then I suppose I could say I’ve been damned. My parents dying suddenly, my having to give up the graduate program to support my sister—that is, until she took off with some idiot twenty-five years her senior. Of course, after the divorce she was destitute so I supported her again until she met her current husband, who works in a gas station.”
    â€œI’ve had my share of hardships, too,” Sophie said, defensively. “My life hasn’t been a bed of roses. I’m divorced. I’m living alone for the first time ever. I’m studying for my real estate license and it’s not easy, there’s a lot to learn.”
    â€œOf course,” John said soothingly. “I’m sure Eve didn’t mean to imply that you’ve had a free ride. Did you, Eve? I mean, Eva.”
    I looked at my old friends, teamed up against me. “Is anyone having coffee?” I asked, suddenly eager to get the hell out of there.

16

    Dear Answer Lady:
    I’m getting married next spring in an awesome ceremony after