Finale

raised my eyebrows. “So that’s it? You’re finally going to accept what you are?”
    An almost bashful smile broke across her face. “Hell’s bells, yeah.”
    “I like this version of you better,” I said.
    “I like this version of
you
better.” Marcie stood, grabbing her handbag off the counter. “Do we have a shopping date or what?”
    Not two hours after the final bell dismissed us, Marcie had blown nearly four hundred dollars on a wool coat, jeans, and a few accessories. I didn’t spend four hundred on
my entire wardrobe for the year. It occurred to me that if I’d grown up in Hank’s household, I wouldn’t think twice about sliding my credit card all afternoon either. In fact,
I’d have a credit card.
    Marcie drove, since she claimed she didn’t want to be seen in my car, and while I didn’t blame her, it did drive the message home. She had money and I didn’t. Hank had left me
his doomed army, and he’d left Marcie his inheritance. Unfair didn’t begin to cover it.
    “Can we make a quick stop?” I asked Marcie. “It’s a little out of the way, but I need to pick up something from my friend Dante.” I felt queasy at the thought of
seeing the pictures of Patch and Dabria, but I wanted to get the unknown over with. I didn’t have the patience to wait for Dante to deliver them. Since I had no way of knowing if he already
had, I decided to be proactive.
    “Dante? Do I know him?”
    “No. He doesn’t go to school. Take your next right—he lives close to Casco Bay,” I told her.
    The irony of this moment didn’t slip past me. Over the summer, I’d accused Patch of getting involved with Marcie. Now, just a few months later, I was riding shotgun in her car, on my
way to investigate the same story—just with a different girl.
    I pressed the heel of my hand between my eyes. Maybe I should let it go. Maybe this said a lot about my insecurities, and I should just trust Patch unconditionally. The thing was, I
did
trust him.
    And then there was Dabria.
    Besides, if Patch was innocent, and I hoped with everything I had that he was, there was no harm in looking at the pictures.
    Marcie followed my instructions to Dante’s house and made an immediate sound of appreciation as she gazed at the architecture. “This Dante friend of yours has style,” she said,
eyes sweeping over the quintessential Queen Anne house set back from a large apron of lawn.
    “His friends left it to him in their will,” I said. “Don’t bother getting out—I’ll just run up to the door and get what I need.”
    “No way. I have got to see the interior,” Marcie said, hopping out before I could stop her. “Does Dante have a girlfriend?” She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her
head, blatantly admiring Dante’s wealth.
    Yeah, me,
I thought. And I was clearly doing a stellar job keeping up the charade. Even my half sister who slept down the hall knew nothing of my “boyfriend.”
    We climbed the porch and rang the bell. I waited, then rang it again. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I peered through the dining room window into shadowy darkness. Just my luck I’d stop
by when he wasn’t home.
    “Yoo-hoo! Are you girls looking for the young man who used to live here?”
    Marcie and I turned to find an elderly woman standing on the sidewalk. She had pink slippers on her feet, pink rollers in her hair, and a little black dog at the end of a leash.
    “We’re looking for Dante,” I said. “Are you a neighbor?”
    “I moved in with my daughter and her husband at the beginning of summer. Just down the street,” she said, gesturing behind her. “My husband, John, is gone now, bless his soul,
and it was either a nursing home or my son-in-law’s residence. He never puts the toilet seat down,” she informed us.
    What is she yapping about?
Marcie asked my thoughts.
And, hello. That dog needs a bath. I can smell it from here.
    I affected a neighborly smile and walked down the porch steps. “I’m Nora Grey. I’m friends with the guy who lives here, Dante Matterazzi.”
    “Matterazzi? I knew it! I knew he was Italian. Name like that screams Italian. They’re invading our shores,” the woman said. “Next thing you know, I’ll be sharing a
garden wall with Mussolini himself.” As if to weigh in, the dog gave a snarling bark of agreement.
    Marcie and I shared a look, and Marcie rolled her eyes. I said to the woman, “Have you seen Dante today?”
    “Today? Why would I have seen him today? I