--...----...----...--

He asked me to, okay?

.:. insert picture of Grace sitting on the floor, leaning her back against
the side of Joan's bed with Joan lying belly-down on it .:.

Luke:

Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet. I try to wrap my head around the translation of Martialis Lib.1. He mourns honestly who mourns without witnesses. How fitting. I contemplate this when I hear the doorbell going off. At this point any distraction is welcome, so I put the pen down that I have been chewing on for the past five minutes and go to open the door. A familiar face looks at me, her blue eyes piercing me with a look that bears concern and a tinge of sadness that I'm not accustomed to seeing. Her glance lacks the familiar fierce determination and readiness to take on anyone who challenges her.

'Grace,' I speak her name, surprised by her so unexpectedly standing in front of me. But then, I shouldn't be startled. Next to the little weasel, she is Joan's best friend. Although I never pictured her as a caring and worrying nature, it is only natural that she wants to check on Joan. Oh, how I hope she gave Rove the punishment he deserved!

Even though her eyes betray her usually cool exterior, her voice doesn't. With her usual gruff tone, she asks me, 'Look, geek-boy, can I come in or are you just gonna stare at me standing on your front porch?' Sheepishly, I step aside to let her in. She trudges into our living area like this is her home, letting her bag drop next to the kitchen table, plopping down on one of the chairs. She waits for me, expects me to sit down as well. I do as her unspoken command tells me.

I don't wait for her to ask. 'Joan's locked herself in her room and won't let anyone in.' If you look close enough, you can see a faintly passing shadow clouding her eyes. Almost undetectable, but I notice it anyway. She hurts for Joan as much as I do. She places her arms on the table, intertwining her hands as if to take my attention away from her coral blue eyes that remind me of solitary lagoons in a rain forest. I mentally push aside any thoughts of skinny dipping that have suddenly popped into my head, seemingly out of nowhere.

'You think she'll talk to me?' she asks me. I shrug my shoulders helplessly. I have long since stopped trying to figure out my sister. 'I don't know,' I reply. 'Guess it's worth a try.'

Together, we walk up the stairs and stop in front of Joan's door. Grace knocks, more softly than I would have expected from her, just as her voice when she says, 'Girardi, you can't hide in there forever. No guy is worth doing that to yourself, not even Rove.' She pauses for a moment and I watch her listening intently for any indication of movement on the other side of the door. 'Look, I'm not gonna leave this spot until you open the door, so don't try me. I will start singing if I have to, so you better not--' Grace's eyes widen a notch as she is interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock and the door opening just a crack.

When I move to enter the room with her, she lightly touches my arm, signaling me that this is a girls-only situation. I nod understandingly and tell her, 'I'll be in my room, okay?'

Grace:

I silently close the door behind me as I enter her room. I have only been here a few times before, but I vividly remember the faint smell of body lotion and perfume and also the clutter of worn clothes and stuffed animals littering the chairs and the display of memorabilia, photos and posters on the walls, shelves and dressers. Girardi is lying on her bed, her face buried in her arms. I am not sure if she's ready to talk, but I suppose her opening the door to me is a sign that she is open for it at least. I sit down in front of her bed with my back leaning against the side of it. As matter-of-factly as I can, I tell her, 'Look, if you're waiting for something lame like "I'm sorry" or "It's gonna be okay", you're not gonna hear it from me. It's not like I have the manual on how to deal with shit like this. All I know is, this sucks big time.'

She snorts out a half-laugh that almost mocks my words. 'Suck doesn't begin to describe it,' she replies in a teary sort of voice that she is trying to make it sound composed. She snuffles her nose once. 'This whole thing was doomed from the beginning, wasn't it?' Anger is creeping into her voice, denial mixed with it. 'This whole thing was just too perfect from the start,' she almost spits out. 'What boyfriend could ever be that understanding, that caring, loving and considerate without any obvious flaws? I should have seen it coming, I should have read the signs.'

I open my mouth to say something, but am at an uncharacteristic loss for words. But she plows on, like she's in the zone. A volcano spewing hot ashes, her words like fiery chunks of lava. 'How could I ever think that he truly loved me? How could I think he would wait until I was ready? If it was ultimately about sex, then why did he pretend he cared about me? I mean, was any of that ever real? And if it was, why did he sleep with B--' She chokes on the name, circumnavigates it, '... with that little freak?'

I close my eyes for a few seconds because I don't have the answers she so badly wants. 'Look, dude, I understand it as little as you do. I don't know why he did it. I doubt he even really knows himself.'

I suddenly feel her shift on the bed, see her legs appearing next to me. She gets up and paces the room. Then she stops in front of me and looks at me, accusingly. Her stare incriminates me and I the tension rises to an almost tangible level even before she speaks her next words. 'You knew, didn't you? You knew and didn't tell me.' I see her eyes tearing up again. 'How long have you known?'

I swallow involuntarily because there is no easy way out of this. I look down because somehow I'm ashamed of myself now. I should be used to being played tug-of-war with by now. In a quiet tone, I say the only thing I can say: the truth. 'He told me the day before mock trial.' I look up at her again, studying her reaction, bracing myself mentally for another explosion, another volley of angry words. Give it to me, Girardi, I'm used to verbal abuse. Maybe I even deserve some of it.

But she only goes all quiet on me. That's much harder to bear than harsh outbursts. In a voice that doesn't betray her disappointment in me, she quietly asks, 'Why didn't you tell me?' I still look her in the eyes and feel a small wave of anger welling up inside me as well. Anger at me being stuck in the middle again, anger at having to defend myself for things that I did not have any voluntary part in, things I was not asked to do or actions I wasn't asked to defend. Defensively, I lash out, 'He asked me to, okay?'

Girardi raises an eyebrow. Oh yeah, now she's in full flight. 'He asked you to, huh? So that's where your loyalties lie, I see.'

I cannot bite down on the fury of the unfairness of the situation any longer. 'We're talking about loyalties now? Would I be here if I wasn't loyal to you too? Look, I don't condone his actions, but we've been friends for God knows how long, and I'm not just gonna throw that away because he made a mistake that put me in the middle of this.' I get up from my sitting position, so I feel I have more leverage in our war of words.

She counters me yet again. 'A mistake, is that what you're calling it? Like something you can just delete with an eraser and fix with another ink stroke?'

I want to reply something heated, yet poignant, but then realize this is only going to deteriorate a situation already gone from bad to worse. I turn around and walk to the door, then face her again. In an almost soothing tone, I tell her, 'I can understand that you're angry and all, but this is not going anywhere. I don't wanna fight. I wasn't asked to be put in this position, yet here I am. As hard as you may find it, I'm your friend, Girardi, but I'm also his friend and I won't badmouth Rove. If you can accept that, you know where to find me.' After having informed her about this, I walk out of her room.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Luke standing in the doorway to his room. No doubt he has heard us verbally combating. I walk down the stairs without a word to him. I can feel him, hear him tentatively following me. I can sense his insecurity at how to best approach me without me blowing off in his face. I almost smile at that. Having reached the downstairs hallway to the front door, I hear him say, 'Grace, I'm sure she didn't mean it. She's just angry and confused.' I turn around and give him as friendly a face as I can make right now. "I know, geek. She has a lot to digest. Anyone would be confused right now. I don't blame her, so don't worry. Look, I'll come back tomorrow, okay?"

He looks at me, like he wants to ask me to stay, but I need to figure out this whole situation myself. No doing that while the Girardi family physically lingers around me. I know I will falter if I hold his gaze any longer and wait for him to try and persuade me not to go. So I turn around, open the door and walk out. I don't see him, but I can only imagine he is now leaning on the doorframe, staring at me leaving.