The thought stops me. Perhaps it is the choice I must make myself.
* * *
Yet another day I sit across the metal table from her. I come more and more often as the date of the trial draws closer and closer, drawn to her repeatedly. This time she is the strong one as if she came to console me.
I try to speak of silly things, of gossip, the kind we used to laugh at together. I talk of my mother"s antics and how terrible she is behaving. It is a foolish attempt at foolish conversation. I find it hard to say what I need to say. At last, the words come.
“I"m so sorry, Ginevra.” The tears flow, racking my body. I can do nothing to stop them even if I want to. “My dearest, dearest friend. I should have believed you. For that is what you are…the dearest and truest friend. I shouldn"t have…” I ca
