Sweet Water(94)

“Not yet. Thanks, we’ll get him help if he needs it.” The continual mention of Finn creates a burning sensation in my body, and it might be because it’s the first night he’s gone out since Yazmin died. I’m worried about him. Nothing feels right.

Camille fluffs her blonde mane over the pointed shoulders of her floor-length red ballgown, cinched in the middle for extra accentuation of her curvy figure. “I heard the girl was into drugs,” she whispers. “I told everyone I knew your boy wasn’t like that. Love me some Finn,” she says with a wink.

“Thank you,” I manage, even though I want to tell her Finn’s not perfect and neither are her children. Finn does do drugs and so does Camille. Just because hers are prescribed doesn’t make them better, but she’s trying to be kind, so I shut it.

“It’s a shame, after William pushed for her to get that scholarship and all.” Camille bats her eyelash extensions at me.

What did she just say? Camille is on the board for the scholarship program. The burning sensation heightens. William knew who Yazmin was before this happened? Something is wrong here.

I take her by the shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“He didn’t tell you? William is one of the alumni who fund the scholarship program.”

“I knew that . . .”

“Well, he reads the essays of all the kids applying to get in. All the sponsors take part in choosing the student. He pushed for her to get it. There were more qualified candidates, but he was really moved by her essay.” She shakes her head sadly, but I’ve stopped listening.

The Ellsworths don’t do charitable things out of the goodness of their hearts. All their actions have self-serving motives. I look around the ballroom for them.

Why the hell did they want Yazmin to get the scholarship? Something’s definitely not right. How do their dirty hands connect to Yaz’s death?

“Thanks for your kind thoughts, Camille.” I tell her goodbye and walk back to my table, briefly mourning the losses as I glance around the room, because you can’t keep your married friends when you’re divorced here. That’s not the way it works in Sewickley. Everyone is connected like a fat thatched rug. When you remove one piece, the whole thing comes apart.

There’s an announcement made at the front of the room that the auction is about to begin, whereby all the local stores and collectors will present their pieces and put up for bid anything from haircuts to jewelry.

Martin squeezes my hand when the Sugarmans walk away. “They’re great, aren’t they? Would you like to have them over for dinner? We don’t do enough couple things.” He seems so earnest in his suggestion, but he’s also trying to mix business with pleasure, acting like he wants to entertain the Sugarmans, but it’s so he can discuss his property deal with Dallas.

“Martin . . .” I shake my head, and he looks like he might cry.

“It’s just me,” he says, and he wants me to look at him, but I really can’t. “Hi, Sarah . . .”

Memories of our first night together and his little phrase float back, and it’s not cute and sweet this time, and it doesn’t make me feel adored; it just makes me angry. He can’t use old romantic overtures to fix new problems.

The first auction item is a stunning set of emerald earrings from a local jewelry store. They’re teardrop shaped, a karat or so, lined in diamonds, and embedded in fourteen-karat gold.

“Would you like those, love?” he asks, squeezing my hand again.

I pull it away. “Absolutely not. Those emeralds could feed a village,” I snap.

He leans back in his chair, defeated. I won’t give him an inch. He can’t buy his way back with fancy dinners and expensive earrings. But it’s not just the auction items making me nip at him. Everything feels off since I learned about William’s involvement in Yaz’s scholarship.

The auctioneer is prattling on about stupid items, and I want to break away and check on Finn, but Martin is squeezing my hand so tightly, I’m afraid I won’t be able to break free.

We don’t bid on anything, and the haircuts go for over $1,000.

Martin laughs, but I think it’s gross. Even his little mannerisms I used to think were endearing are bothering me, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the evening with this man, let alone the rest of my life.

Afterward, we run into the Ellsworths, who’ve arrived fashionably late—after the auction. They’re seated with their country club friends, as always, and it’s all I can do not to throw William’s martini in his face. Bill Jr., city commissioner elect, is there with Greta, who’s been left out of the web of lies, and I can only assume it’s because her vocation as a dietitian doesn’t benefit the circle.

It’s always irked me how I am the one who gave Mary Alice grandchildren, yet Greta is still somehow the favorite because she grew up on the right side of the overpass. Then again, Mary Alice doesn’t exactly love children—they talk back.

I offer Greta a small smile, and she greets me with one of her Queen of England half waves.

Get me out of this family.

“Hello, lovely daughter-in-law of mine.” William’s face hangs flat and long, reminding me of a full-grown dachshund, an aged version of Martin. William and Mary Alice both rise from the table and usher us out of earshot.