Social Lives (21 page)

“I really am not coming next year,” Rosalyn said flatly.

Eva draped her arm around Rosalyn's shoulders. She would come; they both would. “Okay,” she said, “okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

S
LEEP HAD COME QUICKLY
for Jacks. After arriving home at 4
A.M
., her head swimming in a cloudy pool of wine and vodka, she had barely managed to change into a nightgown and wash the thick makeup from her face before crawling into her bed and passing out. And everything else that had been lurking inside her had been beaten back by exhaustion.

But morning hadn't been far off. Curled up beneath the covers, she felt her body awaken. It was slow; her muscles were stiff, her temples throbbing. She opened her eyes to light that was already full, the light of midmorning, and from the rooms beneath her, she could hear the living that was well under way within the house. She was alone in the bed, which meant that David had heard the kids and let her sleep. Or perhaps he hadn't slept at all, tossing and turning beside her until he finally gave up and went someplace else to tend to his worries. His secrets.

She took a deep breath and lifted her head to see the clock. It was nine thirty. She began to think about the day. Kelly would be here with the kids at noon, their monthly get-together that Jacks's girls always awaited with persistent impatience. It would be a good day for them, and knowing this was the sole trace of peace against the dread that crawled up from the corners of her subconscious.

She placed her hand on her stomach and pressed down hard, but the waves continued as the picture emerged. Ernest Barlow, his hands on the flesh of her thighs, his tongue brushing hers. She could feel him, smell him. She could even taste his precious wine swirling against her palate, which was close to unbearable with such a raging hangover. It was the kind of regret that cuts deep, that twists and carves with each visceral reflection. She knew things about Barlow now that she hadn't before—the intimate things reserved for spouses in their insular world. The sound of his sighs, his moans. The intense look of desire and release. She had taken these things from him and given nothing back because nothing about her had been genuine. It had all been staged, and the fact that she knew just how to perform the act was equally disturbing. What would she do with this? He would never leave Rosalyn, and Jacks could never live with herself if he did. Still, he would be obligated to her in a different way now, and that could be the very thing that could save her.

She curled up into a tight ball and closed her eyes hard, forcing herself to remember what was going on in this house. The lies. The investigation. And the crimes. The laughter that was now seeping through from the rooms below could not erase any of that. A lazy Sunday morning, David making breakfast for the girls, tickling Beth into a fit of giggles. It would be so easy to forget. Or maybe to pretend. People did that, didn't they? Ignored the things that were right in front of them but too ugly to face? Reality could be woven from whatever fabric one chose. And what Jacks wanted to choose was the scene that was playing out on this crisp fall day in Wilshire.

But that was impossible. The sickness from her own actions was in her now, and it would not be suppressed. Whatever capacity she may or may not have had to ignore David's troubles was now irrelevant. Maybe this was a good thing, a necessary thing, because it would remind her. It would wake her from sleep, pull her back from a moment of laughter with her girls, a loving feeling toward her husband. It would never leave her, and in that would be her salvation, and that of the family. This was not going away. David was about to lose everything, and something had to be done. Now she had done it.

She felt the adrenaline kick in. She felt her new self return—the self that was fighting for survival. Within seconds, the headache was gone, her insides steady as though cement had been poured down her throat and then solidified
within her. She got up from the bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

 

The leaves were thick in the yard. Jacks had asked the groundskeeper not to blow them into the woods, so the kids could make piles. Sitting on a lawn chair beside her sister, both of them bundled beneath a wool throw, Jacks watched the five children rake and jump, and the significance of seeing them together was not lost on the Moore sisters. Their children's happiness had done nothing less than break the chain of their history and the cycle of fear it had brought to bear.

“Remember doing that?” Jacks said out loud, though mostly to herself. Kelly wasn't one to reminisce, and she didn't answer. But Jacks saw a smile fighting to come out. They did have some memories that were good, pure memories of climbing trees and riding bikes, searching for neighborhood kids to join them in one kind of mischief or another. Of course, what was normal or not back then had no significant relevance to their childhood. Any traces of normalcy, in fact, were the result of sheer coincidence, or happenstance.

Jacks let herself smile as she watched the children in the leaves, their faces light, free of the burdens their mothers carried. Then she scanned the perimeter for her husband. Not finding him in earshot, she leaned in closer to her sister. “Any more news?”

Kelly nodded but kept her eyes on the children, her expression steady. “Some of the investors were paid off. They withdrew their complaint with the government. Red said the others might be forced to do the same.”

Jacks steadied herself against the surge of hope that rushed in. “What does that mean? Where did he get the money?”

“Red doesn't know. He either had the money squirreled away somewhere, or found new investors. Either way, he was able to settle with the ones that were making all the noise. Probably not at face value, but enough to make them back off. They must have thought there was nothing more to get out of him.”

Jacks exhaled deeply. It didn't make any sense. “Where would he have gotten the money? The hotel burned, there was no insurance. Why would anyone invest with a firm that was under investigation for embezzlement?”

Kelly shook her head.

“Not so rough, Pete!” she screamed into the yard. Peter was tossing Beth in the air onto the pile of leaves.

“She's fine. She likes it.” Jacks smiled briefly as she watched her little girl in the leaves, nearly paralyzed with excited laughter. “What does Red
think
?”

Kelly didn't answer. Instead, she stared out at the children and took a sip of her tea.

“Kelly?” Jacks knew her sister. There was something she was not saying.

“Nothing. He doesn't know. He'll keep looking.”

Jacks let it go, though it had her unnerved. Still, she moved on because they were nearly out of time. David was fixing a tray of graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows to make s'mores. He would be out soon to light the fire pit.

“What should I do now—about Barlow?” That was the question of the hour. She had started the affair, told him she loved him. They had made a plan to meet again.

Kelly looked at her and saw the guilt on her face. “Are you okay?”

Jacks nodded. This was no time for repenting. She would do that later, when this was all over. That's what she told herself, what she forced herself to believe.

Kelly placed a hand on Jacks's shoulder. “I know you've been friends for a long time . . . but a man will do far more for a woman he loves than one who's just a friend.”

The sound of the screen door slamming ended their conversation. They turned then, both with a warm smile, as David Halstead walked out with the tray of food.

“Time for s'mores!” he yelled into the yard. Four of the five children came running. Janet, Kelly's oldest, walked with indifference, though she would enjoy the smell of the fire as much as any of them. What could be better on a cool November afternoon?

There he was, the good man. They were both thinking it. Whatever walls they had built around them, David Halstead had made it past them, and it was impossible not to feel that everything that was now happening was some kind of punishment for their abandon. The world was not constructed of good and evil. Their father had been a good man. Their mother had loved them. But there was no comfort in any of this. Only a reminder that life could fall apart at any second.

They started to get up to join the kids, but Jacks grabbed Kelly's arm, pulling her back. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes suddenly desperate. “Fifteen years. We've been friends for fifteen years, so I have to know. Was all of this for nothing . . . what I've done to David, to Barlow?”

The fire was lit, and she could smell the burning leaves. The children were standing together, pushing sticks through soft marshmallows, their cheeks flushed from the clean, cold air and the raw feeling of being alive. And at the center of it was David, as he had always been. Her husband. Her love. The man who had betrayed her, and the man she had now betrayed.

Kelly wrapped her arms around her sister and held her, taking on the despair that was too heavy for her sister to carry alone. Then she whispered back to her, “I don't know.”

Sensing David's eyes upon them, Jacks pulled away and turned her back to him. She busied herself folding the blanket and wiped her face with the palm of her hand. Kelly grabbed her tea and let out a laugh as though they were enjoying a happy moment together.

With her sunglasses in place, hiding her eyes, Jacks turned around, then headed for the fire.

 

 

 

 

 

C
AITLIN
B
ARLOW PAUSED BEFORE
getting out of the car.

“What's wrong?” her father asked, his face replete with far more worry than the situation called for. At least as far as he knew. Cait could feel the worry reaching out from him, wanting to hold her, and the fear that it might just succeed was enough to overcome the sheer dread that was keeping her from leaving his side.

“Nothing.” She pulled the handle, grabbed her things, and left, slamming the door behind her. She did not look back, even as she heard the car idle in place. Her father was not yet ready to let her go from his sight.

It was a cold Monday morning. The sky was gray, threatening an early snow. Caitlin had prayed for its arrival in time to keep this very moment from coming, but the ground was dry as a bone. And now the moment was here.

She had not heard from any of them. Not completely unusual, but after the night they'd shared, it was strange for Amanda not to call.
Can you believe what we did?
she might have asked. Or maybe not. Maybe she was unfazed. Maybe it was Cait alone who was in a state of disbelief. Still, it was not like Amanda to forgo the collection of details from every unfinished story, which meant it was entirely likely she knew how Cait's night had ended.

The thought of it crashed inside her like a wrecking ball, squeezing the air right out of her lungs.
Shit.
If Amanda knew, then everyone knew. She'd relived that moment in Doug's car again and again until she no longer had any perspective on how horrific it really was.

She entered the front doors of the Wilshire Academy, then made a quick turn toward the lower school. She could cut through the hallways, up the back stairs, through the cafeteria, then out again to the upper school. That would leave her steps away from her locker and her first-period class. Maybe she wouldn't have to see anyone. Maybe no one would see her. It was a stupid thought, of course. First period would come and go; then she would be back in the hallway and on to second period with Amanda. One look and she would know. One look and her fate would be revealed.

Her stomach was cramping with hunger. Nerves had kept her from eating. It had been nearly twenty hours since she'd had one bite, and even with the acid that was now demanding it, the thought of food was unbearable. She ducked into the nearest bathroom, which was swarming with little girls busying themselves before the start of school. Some were half the size of her, dressed in the same uniform, checking themselves in the mirror. Little mini-me's of the upper-school girls who were acutely aware of Cait's sudden presence among them. But Cait didn't stop to notice them. She went into a stall, sat down, and bent over at the waist until the feeling passed.