The Perfect Stranger (Social Media #2)(103)

Maybe so. But she died, and every trace of her disappeared from Beck’s mind.

That’s going to happen to Jordan, too. Everything Mom did for him, and with him . . .

He’ll only know about it because they’ll tell him stories and show him pictures. He won’t know, in his heart. He won’t remember.

He opens his eyes abruptly, as if sensing that she’s there. “Hi, Aunt Beck.”

“Hi, sweetie. Did you have a nice nap?”

He nods sleepily. “I dreamed about Grammy.”

“Really? What happened in your dream?”

“She was just laughing and laughing, and Grampy was giving me horsey rides on his back like he used to.”

She smiles, eyes suddenly swimming in tears. “That sounds like a really nice dream.”

“Yeah. It was happy. Do you think Grampy will play horsey again when he gets back?”

“Maybe not today,” she says. “But someday. Someday, I’m betting he will.”

In the past hour the sky above the bay has gone from deep blue to pale blue with patchy clouds to completely overcast. The air hangs heavy with humidity and the incessant rattling hum of locusts in the coastal grasses that sound to Elena like a perpetually shaking tambourine, further rattling her nerves.

Forcing down a final bite of the pecan pie Landry served for dessert, she fights the urge to jump up and excuse herself from the table . . .

Just as Landry did a short time ago, when she left to get the dessert and didn’t come back for so long that Elena finally went into the kitchen to see if she needed help. She wasn’t there, and a pair of pecan pies sat at the ready beside a stack of plates.

What, Elena wondered, was she up to?

It could have been innocent—maybe she was on the phone with her husband, or tending to some household chore . . .

But when Landry reappeared with a dessert tray, she neglected to make eye contact with anyone, and her hands were shaking so badly the stack of plates rattled.

Now Elena sips the sickeningly sweet tea, wishing it were laced with vodka, and wipes her soaked hairline with a napkin. The drenching heat is nearly as oppressive as the paranoia that’s fallen over the group like a storm cloud.

Why aren’t Landry’s kids going to be here tonight, as planned? Does she even have kids? A husband? Or did she stage this picture perfect bayside house right out of Southern Living? Is it filled with mere props, everything from the gallery of framed photographs in the dining room to the teenage bedrooms to the sneakers in the mudroom cubbies carefully positioned to make herself appear to be an ordinary mom, when in fact she’s . . .

“I hope y’all are going to have more of this pie, because I’ve got plenty,” she tells them, and Elena wonders if she might even be faking the accent.

Nobody wants more pie.

Or, when she offers, more sweet tea.

Nobody wants anything but to be someplace, anyplace, other than here.

Kay is quiet by nature but paler than the cloth napkin she’s twisting in her hands, and her pie has gone untouched.

Does she realize it’s a trap? Elena wonders. Or is she in on it? Is it a conspiracy?

Playing the role of charming hostess, Landry chatters brightly—too brightly—about the restaurant where she’s made a dinner reservation.

“And I hope y’all like seafood, because—” She breaks off to look out over the water as thunder rumbles in the distance. The sky has gone from milky to ominous black layers mounting along the horizon.

“It’s going to rain,” Kay says unnecessarily.

“It is.” Landry is on her feet. “We should go inside.”

Reluctant to go into the house with them, Elena points to the ceiling overhead, where the fan still rotates in a futile attempt to cool things down. “We won’t get wet here.”

“We will if it rains sideways. It’s blowing in across the water. Let’s go in.”

She doesn’t want to go in, dammit. That’s why they’re out there in the first place. Inside, she can’t escape quickly if she needs to.

But Kay, too, is already standing. “I’m going to lie down for a little while, if no one minds.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Elena asks her, and she shakes her head.

“The trip wore me out. I’m sorry.”

Poor Kay. She’s not here to blindside her. She’s here because she needs their friendship. She has no one else in the world.

Kay starts helping Landry gather up the plates and glasses, but Landry stops her.

“I’ll get that. You can relax in the living room, if you’d like—we have lots of books, if you feel like reading. Or maybe everyone needs a nap. I know y’all were up early.”

“I wouldn’t mind some downtime,” Kay says with a yawn.

“Same here.” Elena stands. “I’m wicked tired.”

Landry’s smile is stiff. “Sweet dreams, then!”

With narrowed eyes, Elena watches her scrape the crumbs off the plates.

Then she follows the others inside and up the stairs.

As Kay closes the bedroom door behind her, she can hear the rain already starting to fall, pattering on the low-pitched roof directly above her head.

Thunder rumbles, this time much closer.

She sits on the edge of the bed, looking around the pretty bedroom—Landry’s daughter’s bedroom.