Dirty Secrets

Part 31

Had Dr. Haden not interceded at the end of the day to discuss a substitute medication for the pink and gray capsule, Lyla would have likely escaped to Darcy's car unscathed. When the hospital's glass doors slid open, Packer was waiting for her on the walkway.

She knew that he desperately wanted to be her friend, more than a friend. And he was sweet and romantic in a goofy, self-deprecating sort of way. But Lyla needed to keep him at arm's length. For his own good. 

"Hate to see you riding the bus when you got me to--"

"Not riding the bus," she replied brusquely. "There's my friend, Darcy." 

Darcy was rockin' out, singing off-key to the radio. "In your eyes, I know it hurts to smile but you try to. Oh, you try to..."

Packer trotted beside Lyla to the car then leaned in through the open passenger window. Darcy turned down the music.

"Hey. I'm Packer. The guy she's always talking about."

"He tries too hard," said Lyla. "Excuse me." She elbowed her way past him, pulled open the door, and scooted into the car.

"My coach says you can never try too hard."

"Well, he's wrong." Lyla buckled her seatbelt.

"Tell that to LeBron."

"I'm Darcy. Best friends since grade school."

"Then I'm sure you can see that your best friend's in love." 

"I got a ton of homework to do," Lyla sighed.

"Bye." Darcy waved as she pulled away from the curb. She watched him in the rearview mirror.

"Love his confidence. And he's sorta cute."

"In an immature kind of way."

"So, now you're like a jock magnet? Is that what's going on here?"

"He's just a friend."

"You know he's no way thinking that."

"So, this is my life." When Lyla checked her phone for messages, she cracked up.

"What?" Darcy asked.

"Richie. Mr. Paulson said his shirt reminds him of his mother's tablecloth."

"What?"

"He wrote: Still not even close to being over it." She laughed. "Oh, my God."

"You okay with me picking him up on the way?" She checked Lyla for a reaction. "We're studying for the biochem exam. Or I could circle back after I drop you off?"

"No. No. Totally. Be awesome to see him."

"Sure?"

Lyla read his message again and smiled. "Richie always makes me laugh."

Fifteen minutes later, when they turned the corner, there was Richie on the sidewalk looking every bit the part of a GQ model, peering over the top of his Warby Parker sunglasses. He was dressed in gray flannel slacks, a cranberry cable knit sweater and a navy Harrington jacket with a leather book bag slung over his shoulder.

"That's his study outfit?" Lyla giggled. 

"Yeah, and look at me," Darcy replied as she steered her car to the curb. "Do I have anything stuck in my teeth?"

Lyla gave her a quick look. "No, you're good."

Darcy leaned in toward the rearview mirror. "Wish my teeth were as white as my legs."

Lyla stretched her arms out the window to hug Richie.

"You get out of that car right this instant, girl, and give me a proper hug."

Lyla pushed open the door, hopped onto the sidewalk, and threw her arms around his neck. A hint of woody, spiced cologne emanated from his collar. Richie pecked both of her cheeks then took a step back.

"Look at you with your cute little Lyla Perry face."

Lyla blushed. "I'll sit in the back." She opened the back door. 

"No, that's sacrilege. You'll tear the fabric of the universe."

She climbed into the back seat. Richie sat in front. Darcy drove down the street.

Richie huffed. "So, how about Paulson with his two pairs of ink-stained Walmart pants and his nasty clip-on ties giving me 'tude about my shirt?"

Lyla laughed.

"He's probably just fishing for fashion advice," Darcy teased.

"Please. It would be like trying to teach a magic trick to a sleepy toddler."

He glanced at his phone. "Oh. Oh." His eyes went wide. "Speaking of magic. How about that hocus-bogus lady jumping out of her fourth-floor apartment window?"

"Wait. What?" Darcy asked.

"The psychic from your party. Saw it on my local news feed." He scrolled. "Clarisse Devereaux? Maybe she believed she could fly."

No one laughed. Lyla's wide eyes met Darcy's in the rearview mirror. 

"Says the body of the thirty-eight-year-old woman was found in the parking lot behind her apartment building early this morning. Ew. No signs of foul play."

"Gross," Darcy gulped then awkwardly shifted the conversation to biochem. She said something to Richie about glycoproteins and polypeptide chains but the rest was white noise to Lyla. The drumbeat of her heart pounded in her ears. Before the full weight of the tragedy enveloped her, Keenan's mocking phrase rattled over and over again in Lyla's brain like laundry tumbling in a dryer.

Unfinished business.

Unfinished business.

Unfinished business.

"Why don't you hang out with us for a while?" Darcy suggested. "We can study later."

Richie's confused expression indicated that he didn't understand the sudden change of plans.

"Thanks." Lyla's voice squeaked. "You guys go ahead. And study. Or whatever." She exited the car at the curb, saliva caked in the corners of her dry lips.

Darcy didn't drive away until Lyla was inside the house. She closed the door behind her and fastened the latch. Her phone buzzed.

Darcy already?

The message: Wear the ring.

Sender: Keenan