Social Lives (26 page)

“Wanna come to a movie?”

Reed walked in now and stood in the corner. “Yeah. Come with us.”

“What are you seeing?”

The boys looked at each other and shrugged. “Does it matter? We're getting the hell out of here to smoke a joint. Come on. What else have you got to do?”

Cait studied their faces. It wasn't like them to cajole her into accepting an invitation. It wasn't like them to extend one in the first place. They had each other, and when they went anywhere, it was usually to the arcade, which was about as dreadful a place as Cait could imagine. Even compared to this house.

“Mom told you,” she said after a moment.

Brett looked at Reed, who shrugged, and looked back at Cait. “She didn't have to. It was, like, the first thing we heard when we got home.”

Cait nodded, her arms crossed now as she sat on the bed. “Great. That's just great.”

Brett leaned back, trying to be casual. “Well? What'd you expect? News is news.”

“And I'm news all of a sudden? Who told you?”

“Reed heard from Mark, who heard it from his sister. Cbow, it was in the fucking hallway. Everyone knows.”

“You guys suck. Did you come here to rub my face in it?”

Reed, the softer of the two, stepped forward and sat on the bed next to Cait. “No. Of course not. We just wanted to see if you'd come to a movie.”

Brett echoed the sentiment, though Cait didn't believe them.

“Look. If you wanna talk about it, that's cool. I just wanna say one thing, and that's it.”

“So say it.”

Raising his eyebrows as though he were digging for the perfect words, Brett told her exactly what she knew he would. “Cbow, you can't do that shit. From a guy, I gotta tell you. That's not how to get a boyfriend. Girls who do . . . you know, that shit. They don't get boyfriends.”

Cait felt her entire chest tighten. “How do you know what they get? You don't even live here anymore.”

“Cbow—we spent ten years at the Academy. And besides that, you think it's any different at Choate? Reed—tell her. . . .”

Reed was reluctant. He reached out and rested his hand on Cait's shoulder. “He's right, Cbow. I've known Kyle since first grade.”

“And what? There's no way he'd actually like me? A lot has changed since you guys left.
A lot.
” Cait got up and went to the bathroom, slamming the door. The tears were coming, and she couldn't bear the humiliation.

Reed followed and knocked gently on the door. He glanced back at Brett, who shrugged. How the hell should he know how to talk to a girl?

“Cait?” Reed whispered.

“Leave me alone.”

“Cait! That's not what we're saying. It's just that you deserve better than Kyle Conrad. He's . . . I dunno . . . he's like always trying to prove something because his parents have no cash.”

Cait was shaking her head on the other side of the door. “What the hell is wrong with you? He has a perfectly nice house on South. He's like the most popular guy in the junior class.”

“He's a fucking loser, Cbow.” It was Brett this time, not mincing words. “Any guy that would do that . . .”

Brett couldn't finish. Somewhere inside him was anger, rage even, that this punk whose family didn't even belong in Wilshire had done this to his little sister. It made him sick. It made him want to kill Kyle Conrad and his whole fucking family. The testosterone was pumping. He took a breath to keep himself under control.

Then came his sister's voice through the door. “So—you guys never got head from a girl who wasn't your
girlfriend
?” She said the word as though it were the most ridiculous concept to begin with.

There was a collective sigh and then a moment of silence, which revealed the answer, and Cait felt within her a bolt of rage. Fucking guys. They could do whatever they wanted and no one ever judged them. Not ever. There was a fate attached to being a girl, the fate of longing and waiting and seeking—always on the other side of the pursuit, always trying to figure out what had to be done to get a guy, and then doing it without any hesitation. What would those assholes know about
that
?

Ignoring her last comment, Brett decided to press forward. “He's a fucking loser, Cbow. At least pick someone who's a good guy next time.”

“Like you two? Are you good guys?”

Reed was feeling defensive now, and for the record, had never gotten head from any girl. But that was something Brett didn't need to know. “We are good guys. Now come to the movie with us.”

“No way.”

Reed knocked again. “Come on, Cbow. We won't say another word about Kyle. Just come out with us. Get out of this house and get stoned. When was the last time you got stoned?”

Cait thought about the oxycodone. Did that count? “Last time you jerks were home.”

“See—you're long overdue. Get your ass out of there, and let's go.”

There was a slight pause, but then the sound of the doorknob turning. Reed stepped back, letting Cait emerge at her own pace.

Her eyes were red, her cheeks flushed, and Brett pulled her into his arms. Was there anything worse than watching his sister cry? “Come with us,” he whispered as she pulled away.

Cait wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then looked at her brother. He would never understand her, never see her as anything more than his little pet, his little awkward Cbow. Still, it did beat the hell out of staying home.

“Fine,” she said. Then she followed them out the door.

 

 

 

 

 

T
HE DAY AFTER
T
HANKSGIVING
, David went in to work at the normal time. With the maid and nanny off for the weekend, Jacks had her girls to herself, and it felt like the world had been placed on hold just for them.

They were gathered at the kitchen counter, still bundled in pj's at mid-morning, when the first call came. Stuffed from the enormous meal the night before, they had skipped breakfast in favor of hot cocoa and begun a game of Uno. Jacks was smiling when she heard the phone, and she let it go longer than she might have on another day, caught up in this small moment that had made her come close to forgetting. Watching them together, she could feel remnants of the contentment that had settled into her life, that had been her life before the letters started to come, and she didn't want it to end.

It was nothing short of a miracle to Jacks that mothering these girls had become easy for her, that she had come to understand who they were, each so different, yet so wonderful in their own ways. She had worried from the first sonogram how she would raise normal, healthy girls, not knowing how to be one herself. But David had been there to reassure her, and he had been right, though it would be years before she would come to feel it. Somehow, some-way, she had managed to keep from her own children the internal angst that lingered within her, showing them only the parts of herself that were good
and honest and loving. Now she wondered if any of those things would be left after waging this war to save them.

The phone was still ringing.

“Hold on . . . and no cheating!” Jacks said, finally moving toward the counter. “It's probably Daddy—who wants to talk first?”

“Me!”

She heard Beth's reply as she was picking up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Is this the home of David Halstead?” The voice was dark, and something in the intonation—something eerie—sent a chill through Jacks.

“Who's calling?” she asked, glancing back at her girls, who had resumed the game. Her blood was picking up speed, her body knowing before she did that something was not right.

“Is this his wife?”

“We don't take any solicitations over the phone, and we're on the no-call list.” This is where she would normally hang up, satisfied that she had not been overly rude and at the same time facilitating a quick exit from the annoyance. But not this time. This time she needed to know.

“Is Mr. Halstead at home?”

“No. He's not. You can try his office if you need to reach him.” She waited a second to see if the caller would ask for the office number, but he didn't.

“Mrs. Halstead, your husband didn't go to work today. I'll try again later.”

The phone was pressed to her ear even after she heard the
click
from the other end. The breath left her body, as she heard the sound of her girls calling to her from across the room.

“Mom! Your turn!”

But she couldn't move or speak or breathe.

“Uh!” Andrea shouted, frustrated by her mother's distraction. She had one card left and was about to win the game. “I'm going for you!”

Hailey screamed in protest. “You can't . . . you'll see her cards!”

Jacks could hear the fight as it erupted, though the volume was muted by the pounding in her ears. She felt the air race back in, a gasp that made her take a step forward and jolted her into action.

“Just skip me and finish, okay? I have to call Daddy. It's important.” Their complaining trailed off as she rushed out of the room and down the
hall. Leaning against the stair rail in the foyer, she called David on his cell. It went to voice mail. She tried his office next. Got his assistant. Yes—he was there, had been there all morning.

Jacks felt her legs fold beneath her as she slid down to the floor. The relief was overwhelming. Still, there were questions.

Against the backdrop of the battle being waged in the kitchen, Jacks fought to make sense of what had just taken her from her morning with her children to the maze of lies and deception her husband had created and that she now had to decipher.

“Mom!” Hailey was screaming for her now, in that tone that she used only when she was at the end of her rope with her sisters.

“Coming . . . ,” she called out as she stood up and rushed back to the small catastrophe of the spoiled card game.

“Okay, what happened?” she asked, forcing herself to keep it together.

Standing beside her three children, she listened to their conflicting versions of events. Then she asked questions to sort out the truth from the untruth, being careful not to pass judgment, though her patience was in short supply. In the end, they decided to make a fire and get out the Christmas card envelopes. Jacks had purchased an embosser for the return addresses, which Hailey could do. Andrea and Beth could put on the stamps, and Jacks would begin to sign the cards. Girls were easy that way.

It was around three when the second call came. And this time, it was far too familiar.

“Hello, Jacks. Is your husband home yet?”

She held on longer than she should have, longer than she had promised herself she would as she'd gone through her day anticipating this very moment. Still, she stuck to the plan and hung up without saying a word. He called again at three thirty, then again at four, only those times she did nothing but listen to the ringing and watch the words
UNIDENTIFIED CALLER
spread across the caller ID panel. She fought to steady her nerves, which were already frayed from spending the day half in fear, half engaged with her kids. Thoughts raced through her mind. Should they leave? They could go to a movie, go shopping. Then she imagined sitting in a theater, just her and the three girls. Beth would have to use the bathroom, or want more popcorn. Was there ever an outing where one of them didn't leave her sight for a small stretch of time? She had never given it any thought. They lived in
Wilshire—one of the safest towns in the country. But now all of that had changed. The doors were locked, the alarm was on, the dog was in the house.

David came home at six thirty, weary but faking it well when his three little angels jockeyed into position to greet him. He leaned in and kissed his wife. They had dinner and put on a movie. Another fire, popcorn. Then the phone rang.