The Neighbor's Secret(18)

How did we not know about this, Annie kept exclaiming.

“Let’s,” Annie said with enthusiasm. “I have to warn you, though, Laurel’s been grouchy since she came home from the sleepover. I’m not sure if it’s lack of sleep or some teen drama. Probably both.”

This Lena understood.

It hadn’t mattered how many times Lena had tried to get Rachel to lighten up, she had always taken the rules a bit too seriously, which had been catnip to a certain type of frenemy. There’d been a parade of them in middle school—the overly bossy, the excluders, those who wanted to knock Rachel down a peg. Lena suspected they were jealous of the money.

Rachel’s overly strong sense of justice hadn’t helped. She could never decide if she wanted to fit in with her peers or police them.

With urgency, Lena watched Laurel, who was slouched on the patio chaise, tooling with Tim’s old camera.

“How are her friendships generally?”

“Very tight. Three of them have been together since elementary. Sierra, Deb’s daughter, lives right up the hill. Their friend Haley is just across Highway Five in the Red Mesa neighborhood.”

“Good. Girls can be quite cruel.”

“I know, as a counselor, I see some really—wait, Lena, why are you smirking?”

Lena pressed her hands to her cheeks. Had she been?

“I was just remembering how Sarah Loeffler used to have parties for the sole purpose of inviting everyone but Rachel. She was a horrid human being, and worse, she always sold the most Girl Scout cookies—”

“The Sarah Loefflers of the world always do,” Annie said.

“And one year, we were like, Not so fast, honey.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s a little embarrassing. Two grown-ups competing against this poor child like it was the Olympics. At the time I thought it was a victory, but in retrospect, maybe it’s better to not engage.”

For weeks, their entire garage had been organized into inventory, and when they’d finally won, all three of them had celebrated by opening a box of every flavor. Tim had eaten two boxes of the coconut ones all by himself.

Always a man of appetites, her Tim.

“I wonder what happened to Sarah.” Lena cleared her throat, fiddled with her earring back. The good memories always landed a little rougher.

Annie raised one eyebrow. “I’m sure she learned a valuable lesson about kindness and was never ever mean again.” Her gaze slid again to the largest photo of Rachel. “How’s she doing these days?”

“Amazing. She’s got a wonderful fiancé, and a great job.”

Annie made a short sharp noise—an exhale, a laugh? She pounded her fist to her chest, cleared her throat.

“I’m so glad,” she said.

“Annie,” Lena said. “About Mike’s restaurant? My brother Ernesto is in a business group, and they have a monthly dinner. Would Mike be open to their booking CartWheel?”

“I’m sure there’s space,” Annie said sardonically.

“It’s a bunch of muckety-mucks who like to throw their weight around and act like they run the city, but one of them is connected to The Post, so it’s an opportunity for press.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and you’d be doing Ernie a favor, because apparently their current venue doesn’t have reliable parking. I’ll have him call Mike.”

Annie pursed her lips.

“Ernie can call, if. If”—she folded her arms across her chest—“you come to the November book club.”

“Oh.” The ultimatum was cold water splashed in Lena’s face; she had expected a few more months of being pursued.

“Tell me exactly what you’re worried about.” Annie watched Lena with such concentration that two deep straight lines appeared between her eyebrows.

“It’s that—” Lena lifted up her hands from her lap and placed them back down helplessly.

How had the tables turned so quickly? This moment was supposed to be about Lena’s offer, which Annie should have accepted, happily, gratefully, and then Lena would feel good. The End.

“You like to keep things quiet,” Annie said.

Lena nodded. She did like to keep things quiet.

On the night after the funeral, the house had felt like someone had vacuumed out all of the noise. Lena had stretched out on the couch in her black dress, watched the sun retreat behind the mountains.

Another person might have followed Rachel across the country, started over in a new town, but Lena didn’t want—didn’t deserve—that relief. The only way forward was to shed her old pleasures, like molting a layer of skin.

It had been easier than Lena anticipated. A few months of unreturned outreach, and her neighborhood friends had released her. They had probably been grateful: no one knew how to treat her anyway. Lena herself had no clue how she should be treated; nothing felt appropriate.

She didn’t become a complete monk. Melanie called from Newport Beach every morning like clockwork, willing to accept whatever Lena told her at face value, too far away to observe anything to the contrary. Lena’s brother Ernie was more likely to forward emails about stocks and politics than initiate a meandering conversation about grief, mistakes, and regret, but he was there for her in the ways he could be. And he and his wife Trista always checked with her before the holidays, and if Rachel wasn’t available, or Lena couldn’t bear to travel, they made it a point to stay in town so that Lena wouldn’t be alone.