The Neighbor's Secret(61)

“Bigger than the spa?” Annie turned to face Lena, one eyebrow arched. “You don’t seem like the Vegas type, Lena.”

Lena could see it as if it were already happening right there on her patio: Candles lining the stone wall. A table piled with food. The jangle of pop music. Kids running and laughing and dancing in the purple dusk, Laurel in the center, twirling around on the dance floor.

“What then?” Annie said. “I can tell you have something specific in mind.”

Lena breathed in the cool night air. Her pulse sped up like something illegal had hit her bloodstream. The Perleys needed fun.

Don’t pretend this is for them, Rachel scoffed.

Damn the guilt. Lena had sacrificed enough.

“I’m throwing Laurel a graduation party,” Lena said.




APRIL

To: “The Best Book Club in the World”

From: [email protected]

Bonjour! Bring a smock and your creativity to this month’s meeting, ladies!

The book: THE ARTIST’S LOVER

Suzanne Valadon. Her face may be recognizable, but her story has remained largely untold. The subject of Toulouse-Lautrec’s THE HANGOVER and, for a time, his lover, Suzanne was ahead of her time, a single mother, an artist in her own right, a rule breaker to rival them all.*

THE ARTIST’S LOVER, a “meticulously researched,” “lyrical” “tour through artist colony France,” tells Suzanne’s story, through her eyes.

April in Paris, ladies! Who can resist? Be there (MY house again, hooray!) or be square!!!

*She painted male nudes, y’all!





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR



Any interest?

Jen’s former colleague from the Bay Area had emailed her a link to a registration form for an academic conference in Atlanta. Five days in June. International Ethology and Animal Aggression.

She was interested.

Jen from Before would’ve been on the conference’s faculty, putting final touches on her paper. Jen from Now could barely picture how to pack for five days, but was still grateful to feel that new-school-supply rush of excitement while reading about the various panels.

Someone was making a ruckus in the kitchen. Drawers and cabinets opened and slammed shut. “Everything okay in there?” she shouted.

“Just me,” Colin said. “Looking for popcorn.” He leaned in the doorway to the dining room.

“In the garage,” Jen said. “Nice shirt.”

She’d offered him first dibs on a bag of Paul’s clothes heading to donation. In true hipster fashion, he’d swooned over everything—the stained pink seersucker suit and the ugly bold-print shirts. He wore the worst one now—a spectacularly loud red button-down stamped with fish and pineapples, which Jen remembered from a costume party years ago.

But there was something off with Colin. He smiled with effort and his shoulders hunched forward.

“Are you okay?”

“Just a little pain here.” Colin tried to straighten himself up, winced, pressed a hand into his side. “Dr. Internet says it might be an ulcer.”

“You need to see a real doctor.”

“It’s the end of the semester. Too much work.”

“Take some days off. We’ll manage, and I’ll ask people here for the name of someone good.”

“Thank you.” He eased himself down in the chair. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: Who is Harper?”

Jen felt a precipitous drop in her stomach. “Harper was a girl in Abe’s class at Foothills.” Her voice sounded too prim.

“Okay.” His fingers worried the top button of Paul’s old shirt. “They didn’t get in a knife fight, did they? Abe said something to that effect the other day.”

“What did he say?”

“It was strong language. ‘Cross me and I’ll cut you like Harper,’ something like that? With anyone else, I would be worried, but I know Abe has that dry sense of humor. He was joking, right?”

It would be impossible for Jen to adequately communicate what Foothills had been like—the months of terror and bullying that had resulted in the Harper French stabbing. If she told Colin now, the story would be about Abe Pagano’s irrepressible violent streak.

More than Dr. Shapiro or even Paul, Colin had become a touchstone for Jen. He talked about Abe in a way that made the challenges seem manageable, a mere part of Abe, rather than what defined him.

He was the necessary counterpoint to the Scofield voice. And he was real. There was no point in even telling Colin, Jen decided. It was ancient history and irrelevant.

“He was joking,” Jen said.

“Right.” Colin chuckled, then winced. “I figured a stabbing would have come up.” He braced himself against the table and hoisted himself up.

“We’re getting you a doctor’s appointment,” Jen called after him as he hobbled away. The thought of doing so made her feel slightly better about the lie.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE



It was a gorgeous April morning and Annie was reclined on a chaise in Lena’s backyard with a breeze ruffling her hair. The grass glittered in the sunlight. An insistent chickadee sounded its two-note chirp.

Across from her, Lena and Laurel leaned toward each other, passed binders back and forth, talked about party decorations and food and the cake. Annie closed her eyes, lifted her face to the sun, saw a sepia-toned image dance across her eyelids.