Standing for Weirdo

Chapter 15

But still, I had to try.

Once more, under the intense scrutiny of what was left of the group, I walked up to Alex and confronted him about the rumors I had heard.

Was he sullying my honor with another woman? Had he dared to shame me so? Alex excused himself, surprised, and said that it was nothing of the sort. Then, he refused to give me an explanation, no matter how hard I pressed him for one. He just exited the room and I was left to wallow in my anger.

“Halt,” Mr. Hedford called. “It was better; we are improving, but may I ask for yet another try?”

He didn’t sound convinced at all when he said that it was better. He tried hard to hide it, but he got that look in his eyes, the one he wore when trying to soothe the bruised feelings of a teen after yet another correction with no improvement.

I looked to Stella for support, but found her focused on something else. I turned to follow her gaze and—

“Professor,” Trevor said from his corner. Stella had been looking at him. What the hell? I wondered. “May I play a bit in the background while they rehearse? I need the practice time and I don’t think it’ll bother them…”

Mr. Hedford waved a hand. “Of course. You have your right to use the practice time as well, Mr. Bennett. And furthermore, I think your playing might help us all to relax and get into the mood. Do go ahead, please.”

Trevor nodded, and Stella grinned and gave me a thumbs up. I searched Alex's gaze to see if he understood what had just happened. He shrugged, as lost as I was—or more, since he hadn’t seen Stella and Trevor's strange mental communication skills in action—and moved over to his starting point.

The music started to sound, more subdued than it would during the party in Act II, but still audible enough to weave a mood around us. It was soft, lighting fast, hitching… instead of relaxing me, like I had dared to hope for, like our professor had suggested, it felt as if a giant fist was crushing my throat.

I started to move toward Alex, but my step faltered just as the notes did. He looked up, and I didn’t see surprise in his eyes—resignation, tiredness, but he didn’t seem to find it odd that I hadn’t greeted him, that I was still up waiting for him. His behavior only lent more credibility to the rumors, but still it was hard to believe.

It is my husband, I thought, the song swelling somewhere in the background.

I loved this man, damn it. I trusted him! He also was my friend, my confidante. I could not just believe the gossip, even if I thought I had proof. I had to confront him about it, no matter how much my voice shook when I did. Was he seeing someone else? Was there another woman? Alex's face looked pained for a split second, but then he visibly squared his shoulders. He said that there was nothing of the sort, but he didn’t look me in the eye. Instead, he busied himself pretending to discard his hat and his jacket. I wanted to believe him, but his whole attitude screamed “guilty.” So I pressed him. I told him I knew her name, but still he shook his head.

“Mrs. Erlynne,” I spat out at last, trying desperately to get a reaction out of him—either a reassurance, oh please let it be an assurance, or, if it couldn’t be… then at least an admission.

Alex looked me in the eye then, for a long minute, and he said, “Yes, I’m visiting with her.”

The words were even but they felt like a blow. I had to stagger back, to reach for the back of a chair to steady myself, and I saw his calm façade break and his hand reach out, as if he wanted to hold me through the pain. But this time, he had caused it. He couldn’t help me, the hypocrite.