Where'd You Go, Bernadette(24)

“It was an overreaction,” Mom told Audrey with renewed calm. “Don’t forget you were trespassing on my property.”

“So basically,” Audrey exploded, “you’re insane!” Her eyes fluttered spastically. “Golly, I was always wondering. Now I have my answer.” Her face froze in demented wonder and she started clapping her hands really fast and small.

“Audrey,” Mom said. “Don’t stand there and pretend you haven’t been playing this game, too.”

“I don’t play games.”

“How about getting Gwen Goodyear to send out that letter about me running over your foot? What was that?”

“Oh, Bernadette,” Audrey said, shaking her head sadly. “You really need to stop being so paranoid. Perhaps if you interacted more with people, you’d realize we’re not a bunch of scary bogeymen who are out to get you.” She held up both hands and clawed the air.

“I think we’re done,” Mom said. “Again, I want to apologize for the sign. It was a stupid mistake and I intend to take full responsibility, in terms of money, in terms of time, in terms of Gwen Goodyear and Galer Street.” Mom turned and walked around the front of the car. When she was about get in, Audrey Griffin started up again, like a movie monster come back to life.

“Bee never would have been accepted to Galer Street if they knew she lived in this house,” Audrey Griffin said. “Ask Gwen. Nobody realized you were the people from L.A. who came to Seattle and bought a twelve-thousand-square-foot building in the middle of a charming neighborhood and called it your home. Where we’re standing now? Within a four-mile radius is the house I grew up in, the house my mother grew up in, and the house my grandmother grew up in.”

“That I believe,” Mom said.

“My great-grandfather was a fur trapper in Alaska,” Audrey said. “Warren’s great-grandfather bought furs from him. My point is, you come in here with your Microsoft money and think you belong. But you don’t belong. You never will.”

“Say amen to that.”

“None of the other mothers like you, Bernadette. Do you realize we had an eighth-grade moms-and-daughters Thanksgiving on Whidbey Island, but we didn’t invite you and Bee? But I hear you had a wonderful holiday at Daniel’s Broiler!”

My breath kind of stopped then. I was standing there, but it was like Audrey Griffin had knocked the wind out of me. I reached for the car to steady myself.

“That’s it, Audrey.” Mom took about five steps toward her. “Fuck you.”

“Fine,” Audrey said. “Drop the f-bomb in front of a child. I hope that makes you feel powerful.”

“I’ll say it again,” Mom said. “Fuck you for bringing Bee into this.”

“We love Bee,” Audrey Griffin said. “Bee is a terrific student and a wonderful girl. It just goes to show how resilient children are because she’s turned out so well in spite of it all. If Bee were my daughter, and I know I’m speaking for every mother at Whidbey Island, we’d never ship her off to boarding school.”

I finally caught enough of my breath to say, “I want to go to boarding school!”

“Of course you do,” Audrey said to me, all full of pity.

“It was my idea!” I screamed, just so furious. “I already told you that!”

“No, Bee,” Mom said. She wasn’t even looking at me. She just held up her hand in my direction. “It’s not worth it.”

“Of course it was your idea,” Audrey Griffin said to me, poking her head around Mom, and boinging her eyes. “Of course you want to go away. Who can blame you?”

“You don’t talk to me that way!” I screamed. “You don’t know me!” I was soaking wet and the car was running this whole time, which is a waste of gas, and both doors were open so the rain was pouring in and ruining the leather, plus we were parked on the loop so the gate kept trying to shut but then opening again, and I was worried the motor would burn out, and Ice Cream was just stupidly watching from the back with her mouth open and tongue hanging out, like she didn’t even sense we needed protecting, plus Abbey Road was playing “Here Comes the Sun,” which was the song Mom said reminded her of me, and I knew I’d never listen to Abbey Road again.

“Oh, God, Bee, what’s wrong?” Mom had turned and seen that something was the matter with me. “Talk to me, Buzz. Is it your heart?”

I pushed Mom off me and slapped Audrey across her wet face. I know! But I was just so mad.

“I pray for you,” Audrey said.

“Pray for yourself,” I said. “My mother’s too good for you and those other mothers. You’re the one everyone hates. Kyle is a juvie who doesn’t do sports or any extracurriculars. The only friends he has are because he gives them drugs and because he’s funny when he’s making fun of you. And your husband is a drunk who has three DUIs but he gets off because he knows the judge, and all you care about is that nobody finds out, but it’s too late because Kyle tells the whole school everything.”

Audrey said quickly, “I am a Christian woman so I will forgive that.”

“Give me a break,” I said. “Christians don’t talk the way you talked to my mother.”

I got into the car, shut the door, turned off Abbey Road, and just started whimpering. I was sitting in an inch of water, but I didn’t care. The reason I was so scared had nothing to do with a sign or a stupid mudslide or because Mom and I didn’t get invited to stupid Whidbey Island, like we’d ever want to go anywhere with those jerks in a million years, but because I knew, I just knew, that now everything was going to be different.