The Neighbor's Secret(62)

A lawn full of people in pashminas and linen suits.

“Mom.”

Annie opened her eyes.

Lena and Laurel were both looking at her.

“Your dresses arrive tomorrow,” Lena said, and from her tone it was clear she was repeating the information. With her dark-framed glasses and white button-down shirt, Lena looked very professional. “We’ll find a time for you to try it on?”

“Can’t wait.”

“You were saying something about the dance floor,” Laurel said.

“I always put it there,” Lena said in a brisk voice. Party planning had infused her with a formidable energy that both impressed Annie and made her want to hide in the bushes.

Watching the lawn from the cisterna plum, branches tickling her arms.

The party planning was making memories come back to Annie in pieces, bits of fuselage washed to shore. She busied herself with rolling up her pants legs, exposing her pale shins to the sun.

Lena’s floaty green dress. Rachel leaned over the bar, her giant eyes watching Bryce.

She’d been just a few years older than Laurel. What was Rachel like now? The more Annie tried to look past the question, the bigger it became.

If Annie saw for herself that Rachel was okay, maybe the tide could do its job, sweep up the beached wreckage and wash it back out to sea.

“The DJ will be under a tree.” Lena sighed. “If Laurel still insists on a DJ and not a live band.”

“Laurel insists on a DJ,” Laurel said, grinning. “It’s going to look awesome. Can you imagine, Mom?”

“Yep,” Annie said. Could she ever.


FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER

Bryce was being Bryce.

It was taking him forever to get Annie’s orange juice from the bar because he was working overtime to charm the sour-faced girl behind it.

He still looked the high school track star. When he flung his lean arms sloppily to emphasize a point, his short sleeve slipped to expose a long tendon, the slight bulge of his biceps.

Annie clocked the girl responding to his goofy chuckle, how her obsidian eyes glinted and she swallowed quickly. Her smile lingered for a minute after Bryce bounded back to Annie, two glasses in hand.

“You made a new friend,” Annie said.

“Who?” He handed Annie the juice. “Rachel?”

Rachel Meeker? Annie stole a longer glance.

Rachel’s features were thick bold lines. They overpowered the planes of her face, and while she’d probably grow into them, right now she looked too severe. Or maybe she was mad, somehow knew that Annie was about to break her heart.

“What are we looking at?” Bryce said in a stage whisper.

“Rachel Meeker,” Annie whispered back. “I think she has a thing for you.”

“Not age-appropriate,” Bryce said. He shook his head clumsily and held a finger in the air. “But I was telling her, as I will tell you, Annie, that after this, there’s a party down the hill. At Dan’s. No. Dave’s.” He closed his eyes, bit his lip, swayed very slightly. “I forgot the kid’s name. The kid with the rabbits, you know? Chris’s cousin. He’s got a hutch for them, an actual rabbit hutch.”

“You’re drunk.” Annie felt annoyed at his sloppiness, left behind by it, which was hardly fair. She ignored her phone, which was trembling in her bag.

“Not as drunk as I will be,” Bryce said with indignation. “I’ve got the whole night planned. Should we ask Rachel for a bottle?”

Annie didn’t understand why she suddenly felt so guilty watching Rachel Meeker behind the bar. With her doting mother and ornate braids and perfect princess bedroom, she did not need any sympathy.

Shaken, Annie took a delicate sip of orange juice, returned her attention to Bryce, who hiccupped, pointed clumsily at her chiming bag.

His brow furrowed. “You gonna get that?”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX



For the book club meeting, Janine had transformed her living room into an art studio where the women could create their own still-life paintings. Their subject was a vase of flowers and a glass half filled with Deb Gallegos’s themed drink (Untitled—Pernod and champagne and lemon juice).

Later, the group would agree that while the experience had been lovely, they wouldn’t re-create it. Everyone had been too contemplative, a bit in their own orbit.

Deb pushed her chair closer to Annie. “This isn’t book club,” she muttered, “it’s study hall. We should’ve gotten a live model.” She glanced at Annie’s painting. “You’re a terrible artist.”

Annie had to agree. Her canvas looked like blueberries on toast. “I know,” she said. “Wasn’t this supposed to be empowering?”

“Speaking of nudes,” Deb whispered, “have you heard of the hot untouchable?”

Annie shook her head. It was difficult sometimes to keep up with Deb.

“I overhead Sierra on the phone asking ‘is the hot untouchable coming to the party.’ She won’t tell me who she was talking to. Is Laurel seeing anyone?”

Annie frowned. “Laurel’s been spending time at Abe Pagano’s house. But I don’t think—”

Deb’s brows lowered to indicate that no, she couldn’t picture the pairing either. “Haley seemed the likely candidate anyway. But I had to ask.”