Once and for All(77)
They had a group memorial that was televised, a “healing event” for the community. Students held candles, teachers linked arms, everyone cried. The lacrosse coach, between his own sobs, talked about how, on that morning, he’d asked Ethan to his gym office to tell him about some interest from a college recruiter. When Lexi Navigator, in a plain black dress and minimal glitter, was introduced to sing her song about loss, a favorite of one of the victims, I held my pillow to my mouth and screamed.
There were more details. Like how I missed a full week of school, staying in my bed and sobbing. The way Jilly came by every afternoon and crawled in beside me, her arms around my waist, holding me as I tried to sleep. The brightness of the sky outside, the filtered sunlight through the tree just past my window, the most beautiful fall, everyone agreed. It probably was. But even though I was there, and lived it, I couldn’t have said so. The dead aren’t the only ones who vanish: you, too, can disappear in plain sight if enough is taken from you. I was still missing, in many ways. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to be found.
CHAPTER
22
I KNOW YOU WANT NO PART OF THIS, BUT I NEED A PUNCHBOWL.
This was the third text I had gotten from Ambrose, and it was only nine a.m. So much for my bonus, unexpected non-working Saturday. I picked up my coffee, taking a sip, and reminded myself that Jilly and I had an entire day planned at the pool together. It wouldn’t be relaxing—nothing was with Crawford, KitKat, and Bean in tow, as they would be—but at least I’d be off the clock. If I turned off my phone.
NOBODY LIKES PUNCH, I texted back. DO PITCHERS OF SOMETHING INSTEAD. LESS MESSY/GERMY.
In response, he sent me a thumbs-up, the same response I’d gotten when called earlier to advise on one of those plastic aisles you roll out for everyone to proceed down (they never stay put and look awful) and the merits of mushroom appetizers versus meatballs (as one of our favorite caterers, Delia, always said: vegetarians aside, everyone loves meatballs). It was clear that in the last fourteen hours or so this impromptu, easy backyard wedding had morphed into something more complicated. And who needed that?
Not me, I thought as I found my bathing suit and pulled it on, then tied my hair up in a ponytail. I was searching the hall closet for some sunscreen when my phone rang. I sighed, not in the mood for more questions, but then I saw it was my mother.
“Hey,” I answered, “how’s life in the tropics?”
“Wonderful,” she replied. I blinked, surprised, then looked at the screen again, confirming it was in fact her I was talking to. “It’s just so relaxing and gorgeous. I should have done this years ago.”
This time, I looked at the clock. With the time difference, it was just after ten, which meant either she was still loopy from a late night before or she was already hitting the mimosas. When in Rome, I thought. “Wow,” I said. “I have to say I’m surprised, with how much you resisted.”
“Oh, that,” she said, batting away days of complaints and stress as easily as a circling gnat. “Classic workholeic behavior. I’m textbook, according to John.”
Okay, she was clearly drunk. “Do you mean workaholic? And who’s John?”
“Oh, sorry.” She laughed, the sound surprisingly . . . tinkly. Which was a word I had never associated with my mother, well, ever. “John Sheldon. He’s a former CEO and author we met on the plane. Wrote an entire book about the overworked business, corporate, obnoxious mentality all too prevalent these days. Workholes. Like assholes, but worse.”
“Right,” I said. “So you know this guy now?”
Another light laugh. “Well, we ended up chatting the entire flight, and then he invited us to dinner at his place. He keeps a second home here, to recharge and get away from the Nothing Olympics.”
“What?”
“It’s another one of his terms in his book. The competition we’re all in daily, so fiercely, to climb ahead of each other. And what’s the final prize? Nothing.”
Now I was getting concerned. “Is William around?”
“Sure. He’s right here. Hold on.”
Something rubbing the phone, followed by a muffled voice, sounded in my ear. Then William came on, sounding perfectly normal. Thank goodness. “Hey, Lou. Everything okay back home?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “How’s it going there?”
“Oh, great,” he replied. “I mean, everyone thinks I’m a concierge. But at least the tips are good.”
They both laughed at this. Normally, I would have, too. But I was distracted. “Mom sounds kind of crazy.”
He laughed. “I know, right? She’s a smitten kitten. You should see her when she’s actually with this guy. It’s like the cartoons, hearts in her eyes.”
“Are you serious?”
“Totally.” I heard my mother say something, to which he replied, “Oh, please, it’s totally true and you know it. If I didn’t love you so much I’d be jealous to the point of depression. Also, all the drinks are included.”
More laughter. Meanwhile, I still couldn’t find the sunscreen.
“Hold on,” I said to William. “Mom actually likes this guy?”
“I know, it’s insane. They only just met! But he’s taking her out on his boat today for lunch.”