Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(65)

The doorbell rings.

Perfect. Just perfect.

“Can someone get that?” Lauren calls, just having reached the top of the stairs.

No reply.

Oh, right. Lucy is plugged in. Ryan and Sadie are presumably behind their closed bedroom doors.

With a sigh, Lauren makes an about-face and heads back down to answer it. Through the frosted glass panel in the door, she can see the silhouette of someone standing on the porch.

Chauncey, having sprung to life, meets her at the bottom of the steps, barking and wagging his tail.

“I guess you’re back to normal today, huh, boy?” Lauren rubs his head, then opens the door.

John, the pinch-hit dog walker—make that the legitimate pinch-hit dog walker—is standing on the porch, her house key in his outstretched hand.

“Hi. I was about to let myself in but I figured maybe I should ring first.”

“Oh, well…thanks.”

John pockets the key and reaches down to pet Chauncey. “How’s it going there, pal?”

“You know, I should ask you…he seemed kind of under the weather yesterday. Was he low energy when you walked him, did you notice?”

“This guy? Low energy?” John shakes his head. “Nope. I wouldn’t say that. Not that I know what he’s usually like, but he was chasing squirrels around and all that good stuff. Maybe I just wore him out.”

“Maybe.”

Lauren watches him head down the street with Chauncey on the leash. The dog certainly has a spring in his step this morning. Everything seems to be okay now, thank goodness.

Sadie was so worried about him yesterday. Lauren tried to play it down for her sake, but poor Chauncey was definitely out of it.

Just one of those days, she decides. I guess everyone has them.

Especially me.



Spending yesterday shopping for school clothes with Annie was an absolute pleasure.

Marin wishes she could look forward to a similar experience today with Caroline, but she doubts pleasure is on the agenda.

After insisting that she wants to shop with her friends instead of her mother, Caroline grudgingly agreed to indulge Marin in their yearly tradition for a few hours.

“But I don’t want to have lunch,” she said, “and I don’t want you to tell me what to try on.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Still nursing a headache, Marin hated that she, like Caroline, just wanted to get the shopping trip over with.

Now, in the backseat of a Town Car sitting in traffic on the southbound FDR, she fights the urge to tell Caroline they should have stuck to their own neighborhood, where they could walk. But her daughter has her heart set on hitting the trendy boutiques along West Broadway.

“What do you want to shop for today, Car?” Marin asks.

“I don’t know. Cute stuff.” Caroline is busy texting on her cell phone, as usual.

“Juniors get to have casual Fridays, don’t they?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Casual Friday privileges are as big a deal at the girls’ private school as they were at Marin’s back in the old days in Boston. Remembering the other things that were a big deal by the time she was sixteen, Marin wonders if she should have a talk with Caroline about alcohol, drugs, sex…

Not that she hasn’t already had that talk on some level, countless times, over the years. The message, regardless of the topic: Don’t Do It.

“Did you, when you were my age?” Caroline asked the last time Marin brought up underage drinking.

Marin faltered, unable to remember the latest parenting advice. Were you supposed to admit your own teenage sins, or not? She was pretty sure the jury was still out, so she chose to sidestep the question.

This morning, feeling the effects of too much wine last night, she’s a prime example of what happens to people who overindulge.

And when it comes to the repercussions of premarital sex—

I could write a book, Marin thinks sadly.

But she won’t, of course, because she and Garvey swore they would never tell. The news would most certainly destroy his prospects of running on the conservative ticket.

Even though, Marin thinks grimly, it all happened more than twenty years ago. Even though we did the so-called right thing and had the baby.



Lauren is dousing her head beneath the hot spray when someone bangs on the bathroom door. She sighs. Does it ever fail?

“Use the downstairs bathroom!” she calls, lathering her hair.

More banging. “Mom!”

It’s Ryan.

Lauren parts the vinyl shower curtain—which, she notices, is dotted with mildew. “Use the downstairs, Ry! I’m in the shower.”

“No, I don’t have to go. The maids are here!”

Oh no—the maids!

How could she have spaced out like that? She knows they always come on Tuesdays.

“I’ll be right out,” she tells Ryan hurriedly. “Just tell your sisters we have to clear out of here. And…can you make sure your room is picked up?”

Ryan grumbles something on the other side of the door. Lauren doesn’t bother to ask him to repeat it. She sticks her head under the water again, doing her best to get all the suds out and skipping the conditioner.

After swiftly toweling off, she grabs her terry bathrobe, belts it on, and reaches for the doorknob.