The Wife Upstairs(27)
“And what do you know, just like that, my memory has gone blank again.” He taps the side of his head with one finger. “Funny thing, memory. Comes and goes, I guess.”
He probably practiced that fucking line in front of a mirror, and normally, I’d call him out, but now I just get in the car, my hands shaking as I slide the key into the ignition.
When I look in the rearview mirror, I see John walking away toward his own car, and I wait until he’s out of sight to lower my head to the steering wheel, taking deep breaths through my nose.
John never knew about Phoenix. Or Helen. All that shit was years before I met him at the group home, so when things had gotten bad, when I’d had nowhere else to go, John had seemed safe.
Or safe enough.
But I should’ve remembered that no place was ever safe, no person was ever safe.
Except Eddie, I remind myself. Eddie is safe. Thornfield Estates is safe. You’re safe now.
But I check my rearview mirror the whole drive home.
13
“Girl, if I eat another cheese straw, I am going to “die.”
Emily takes another cheese straw as she passes me the plate, so I’m not sure her death is all that imminent, but I give her a sympathetic smile. “Same,” I say before tacking on a “girl,” about a beat too late.
Luckily, Emily doesn’t seem to notice. We’re sitting on the floor in her living room: me, her, Campbell, Anna-Grace, and Landry. I still don’t know their last names or even what streets they live on, but both Anna-Grace and Landry look a lot like the women I already know here in Thornfield Estates. Pretty, thin, good teeth, good jewelry, and a casual way of wearing clothes that I will never be able to mimic. The only thing that sets them apart is that they are both pregnant, Landry slightly further along, her belly rounded underneath her light blue top, Anna-Grace looking like she maybe just ate an extra piece of pizza at lunch. Earlier, I’d heard her tell Emily that they’d already decided to call the baby “Hilliard,” whether it was a girl or a boy, so I shoot her bump a sympathetic glance as I sit on the floor.
At the last meeting, my first one, I’d worn a Lilly Pulitzer dress and ended up having to perch awkwardly on the couch while the rest of them sprawled gracefully on the hardwood in leggings and drapey tops, their feet bare. I’d expected something a little more formal and fancy, hence the dress, but once again, I’d somehow gotten it wrong.
Today, however, I am dressed nearly identically to Emily. Both of us are in neutral shades, Emily a sort of sand color, me in an eggshell cream that I know makes me look sallow, but Anna-Grace and Landry aren’t looking at me like I’m a gate-crasher this time, so I guess that’s an improvement.
Or maybe I somehow proved my worth by buying all those solar lights and not being so gauche as to turn in a receipt.
In any case, I’m on the floor, too, now, sitting next to Emily on one side of the giant upholstered ottoman she uses as a coffee table. There’s a big wooden tray on it today holding a bucket of ice where our white wine currently sweats, and I think all of it—the ottoman, the tray, the wine bucket, the painted glasses we’re all drinking out of—came from Southern Manors.
I almost ask, but the last thing I want to do is raise the specter of Bea here and now. No one had said anything at that first meeting, thank god, and I wasn’t about to give them an opportunity to do a little compare and contrast where the two of us were involved.
“So,” Campbell says, pulling out the monogrammed binder she’d brought last week. “Sweet Jane here got us the new solar lights like a rock star, thank you, Jaaaaaane.”
I raise my wineglass, smiling at all of them. “No problem!” No problem at all except my ex-roommate threatening me in a Home Depot parking lot, and over a thousand dollars racked up on Eddie’s credit card for something as stupid as lights.
“And,” Campbell goes on, sliding her finger down the page, “Anna-Grace said her father-in-law’s landscaping company can donate sod for the front entrance.”
She presses a hand over her heart, tilting her head down with an exaggerated sad face. “You are an actual angel.”
Anna-Grace made a fucking phone call and got some free shit, which doesn’t really seem to qualify her for angel status, but what do I know?
I take another cheese straw off the plate. I’m just jumpy because of everything with John, which is making me bitchier than usual. I’m supposed to be proving to these women that I’m one of them, not thinking of them as the competition, and I need to remember that.
Campbell turns back to her binder, sitting back on her heels. “Okay, so that ticks off most of our summer goals. We should probably go ahead and start looking at fall.”
“Girl, if you say the word mums, I am leaving,” Landry says, rolling her eyes, and they all laugh.
I laugh, too, but once again, I’m about a beat too late again. As far as I can tell, they’re speaking some foreign language.
“No, no mums, don’t be basic, Landry,” Campbell assures her with a smile. Then she clasps her hands underneath her chin, her rings sparkling. “I was thinking we could do something fun with football,” she says. “You know, half the front flower bed in red and white, half in orange and blue.”
The other ladies all ooh at that, and I look around, smiling, but once again, having no clue what’s actually going on here.