The Lifeguards(29)

Toast the pistachios. Whitney took one of her stainless pans from the hanging rack (she hated the pots hovering above her head, always felt a low anxiety, worried one would fall on her skull, but Jules wanted their gleaming pots and pans displayed) and placed it over a low flame, but stopped herself from adding olive oil.

She held the bowl of shelled pistachios. No one would know they weren’t meant to be poured atop the orzo raw. Whitney felt a small thrill—she wasn’t going to toast the damn nuts. She turned off the burner, exhaled. A small kindness to herself, but she already felt a bit less furious.

Roma and Jules burst in the front door, approached the kitchen. Whitney tossed her hair back and smiled. “Dinner in twenty!” she sang.

“We got P. Terry’s burgers,” said Roma, arching a perfect eyebrow.

“Oh,” said Whitney, feeling hurt smash into her but recovering immediately, making her face impassive, moving to the sink to wash her hands.

“Sorry, darling,” said Jules, slipping an arm around her waist.

“It’s fine,” said Whitney lightly.

Jules nodded, distracted already by his phone, making his way out of the kitchen. Whitney looked at the expensive ingredients laid out on the marble countertop: a perfect still life of wasted energy, money, and time.

“I wanted an iPhone Ten and Dad said OK,” said Roma. She placed three shopping bags on the kitchen counter, baiting Whitney to ask what else she’d suckered her father into buying, wanting her mother to be angry with them both. She leaned back and crossed her arms over her tiny chest. “Sorry we got burgers, Mom,” she said, her voice saccharine.

“It’s fine,” said Whitney. “Sweetheart,” she added, forcing the word from her mouth.

“I wish I knew where my old phone was,” said Roma.

“Where did you go last night?” said Whitney. “Did you retrace your steps to look for it?” She swallowed. How could it have been less than twenty-four hours since the boys had found the body?

“I didn’t go anywhere,” said Roma. “I was in my room.”

“Really?” said Whitney. “I saw your car leave, around nine.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Roma. “I went to the Barton Hills Food Mart to get Takis.”

“What’s a Taki?”

Roma laughed derisively. “It’s a chip, Mom. Like Doritos. You’re so white!” She waited, willing her mother to erupt.

Whitney did not respond.

“And I couldn’t find my phone,” Roma continued, “so I went without it. I was so annoyed. I missed everything last night.”

Whitney’s head throbbed. “Did anyone see you at the food mart?” she said.

“The food mart guy,” said Roma, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“Did you use a credit card?” said Whitney. “For the chips?”

Roma stared at her. Her look was a bit menacing, and Whitney’s stomach began to ache. “No,” said Roma. “I used spare change. They’re only, like, eighty-nine cents.”

“There’s probably a video,” said Whitney, thinking aloud.

“What’s going on, Mommy?” said Roma.

“Well, someone died last night, Roma,” said Whitney.

“Yeah, I heard,” said Roma, gathering her shopping bags. “Mom,” she said. “Are you thinking I did something?”

“Of course not!” said Whitney.

“You always suspect me when things go wrong,” said Roma, looking genuinely pained.

Whitney’s mind spun. “Have you…heard anything else?” she said. Roma didn’t answer, kicked off her sandals, and made her way toward the living room. Whitney touched her bronze shoulder and Roma flinched as if her mother had hit her. She whirled around.

“I had nothing to do with this!” she cried, her direct gaze chilling. Don’t think about New Zealand, Whitney ordered herself. No, don’t think about the boy in New Zealand…

“Maybe you should talk to your BFF Annette,” said Roma, her glossy lips curling. “Maybe you should ask Annette where Bobcat goes at night.”

“Bobcat?” said Whitney, bewildered.

“Yeah,” said Roma. “Because one of us has been sneaking out late at night, and it isn’t me.”

“Bobcat’s been sneaking out?” said Whitney.

“He’s dating some older woman,” said Roma, using her fingers to put quotation marks around the word “dating.” “Bobcat’s dating her in the middle of the night, if you know what I mean.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Oh, you’ll understand soon enough,” said Roma, leaving the room, a burst of laughter echoing behind her.





-22-


    Annette


ANNETTE STOPPED AT THE 7-Eleven on the way to her “dog walk,” buying a pack of Camel Lights and stashing it in her jog bra. Whitney brought tequila in her Austin City Limits water bottle. Liza packed caramel corn and squeezed fresh limes.

They preferred fresh-squeezed lime juice and Cointreau to make “Mexican martinis.” (Annette bit her tongue every time her friends used the stupid and honestly racist drink moniker.) But they could mix margaritas with lemonade, or nothing, in a pinch—they were Texan women, after all, and could drink tequila straight, especially if it were good tequila, which they called “sipping tequila.”