Lovely Girls(14)

“Jon.” Genevieve’s tone was sharp enough that her son finally looked up from his device.

“What?”

“Where are the girls?”

“They’re in the pool,” Jon said.

“Did you bring a swimsuit?” Emma asked Alex, who shook her head. “You can borrow one of Shae’s.”

“No, that’s okay.” Alex shook her head again. “I don’t feel like swimming.”

“Maybe you can go put your feet in the water,” Emma suggested.

The last thing I wanted was for Alex to get stuck alone with those three girls, away from the adults. I doubted they’d act up in front of us.

“Alex just had a long practice. She’d probably prefer to stay inside in the air-conditioning,” I said lightly.

“Of course.” Emma smiled kindly at Alex. “If you want, you can watch a movie in the den until dinner’s ready.”

I watched as Alex straightened her shoulders and raised her chin a few millimeters.

“I’ll go sit by the pool,” she said.

I felt a rush of pride and another emotion . . . hope. This was the first glimpse of the old Alex I’d seen in a long time.

“Jon, take Alex outside and show her where the pool is,” Genevieve prodded him. “I’m sure you’d both prefer being out there with the girls instead of sitting in here with us.”

“Right.” Jon snorted, not looking up from his tablet. “As if I’d ever willingly spend time with those bitches.”

“Jonathan.” Genevieve’s tone turned steely. “Don’t use that word. And please get up and do as I ask.”

Jon sighed heavily, but he finally stood and shambled out of the room. Alex, looking resigned, turned and followed Jon out of the kitchen, the two dogs bounding after them. A minute later, I heard glass sliding doors open and close.

“Kate, what can I get you to drink? I’ve got wine, red and white, or I can make you a cocktail,” Emma said.

“A glass of white wine would be great,” I said. “Thank you.”

Emma filled a wineglass and handed it to me. “How’s everyone else doing on drinks?”

“I think your husband needs a refill,” Genevieve said, smiling at Mark.

“I meant guests,” Emma replied. “Mark’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“I would certainly hope so.” Genevieve laughed, resting one hand lightly on Mark’s arm.

I glanced at Emma, wondering whether Genevieve’s flirtatious behavior would bother her. Emma just rolled her eyes comically and refreshed Ingrid’s wineglass.

“Thanks, hon,” Ingrid said. “You might want to cut Genevieve off. We haven’t even had dinner, and she’s already all over Mark.”

“She can have him,” Emma parried back. “But full disclosure, Genevieve, he cuts his toenails in the living room. And leaves the clippings behind for me to vacuum up.”

“Ouch.” Mark tipped his head to one side, considering this. “Although, totally true.”

“Alex is adorable,” Genevieve said to me. “Is she ready for tennis team tryouts?”

“I think so. She was practicing today.”

“That’s good. She’s up against some stiff competition,” Genevieve said. “Her toughest opponent will be Stacey Yang, who has a wicked forehand. But she also tends to fall apart in big moments. If Alex plays her, tell her to target Stacey’s backhand.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the inside info.”

“I’m glad to help. I know how hard it is to be the new kid at school. It would be great for her if she makes the team.”

I felt a rush of warmth toward Genevieve, as well as Ingrid and Emma. They really seemed like women I could be friends with.

“Genevieve is a beautiful name,” I said. “Is your family French?”

“Aren’t you sweet? And, yes, I think I do have some French ancestors.”

“But that’s not why she’s named Genevieve,” Ingrid said, her voice dry. “She changed it when she was in college.”

“Ingrid.” Genevieve shot her friend an exasperated look. “For a therapist, you have absolutely no discretion.” She smiled at me. “One thing you’ll learn about Ingrid is that she’s always brutally honest, with an emphasis on brutal.”

“You’d rather I bullshitted you?” Ingrid asked.

“No, honey, never change.” Emma slung an arm around Ingrid’s narrow shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “We love you just the way you are.”

“What was your name originally?” I asked Genevieve.

“Jennifer,” she said. She shrugged. “But there were dozens and dozens of girls named Jennifer. I’m the only Genevieve.”



We spent the next hour chatting over wine and a charcuterie platter Emma had thrown together. When the two married couples and Ingrid began to reminisce about a trip they’d all taken to the Keys, Joe turned toward me.

“How did you meet this gang?” I asked him. “Or is it a small-town thing where everyone knows everyone else?”

“Genevieve and I were neighbors back when my ex-wife and I first moved to town,” Joe explained.