Lies I Told(15)

Now I was happy just to be driving with the wind in my hair, the Pacific on one side, a friend on the other. Selena turned up the music, pointing things out as we made our way toward the mall. For once, I felt free.

We cruised the Galleria, stopping in all of Selena’s favorite stores. For the first hour I observed, paying careful attention to how the mannequins were merchandized in the popular shops, making note of the brands and styles Selena gravitated toward. She might not be in Rachel’s crowd, but she was Playa Hermosa born and bred.

When I felt like I had a handle on the nuances of Southern California style, I bought a pair of killer jeans, a floral dress, multiple sleeveless tops, a shrunken cardigan, and two pairs of strappy sandals. Then I loaded up on cheap earrings, bracelets, and other accessories at one of Selena’s hot spots.

I felt a twinge of guilt handing over the credit card my dad had given me; I would never even see the bill. But all the kids in Playa Hermosa had cards paid for by their parents, even Selena, although she had a limit and was questioned by her father about the charges when the statement came in the mail. Mooching off my parents was part of the cover, like the ocean and the house on the peninsula and the Saab I shared with Parker. I might as well enjoy it. I would have to leave it all behind anyway.

I treated Selena to lunch at a sushi place in the mall, our shopping bags stacked in the seats next to us. We talked about Ashley (habit friendship left over from middle school) and Nina (a neighbor Selena walked with to and from school), our classes, and the difference between fashion and label conformity. We were on our second plate of tuna rolls before I dared to bring up the subject of Selena’s mother.

I’d been thinking about it ever since that first conversation in the cafeteria. It had nothing to do with the con. Selena was just so unguarded. Her secretiveness about her mother was a noticeable departure from her usual openness. How could I say we were friends if I didn’t know the story behind her mother’s absence?

“Your dad seems nice,” I started, picking up a tuna roll with my chopsticks.

She smiled. “He is. I mean, he’s strict and everything, but I understand it. He came here from Mexico when he was a kid. He’s had a hard life. He just wants me to take my future seriously.”

“I can see that.” I hesitated, suddenly unsure. I was so used to digging for information that it felt dishonest to ask questions even when they had nothing to do with the con.

Selena set down her chopsticks. “You want to know about my mom, don’t you?” she asked softly.

“No! Well . . . I mean . . .” I sighed. “I guess I am a little curious. But you don’t have to say anything about it if you don’t want to.”

“What have you heard?” Selena asked.

I looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Grace. I know people talk about it. It’s okay. I get it. It’s weird.”

“Nobody’s said anything to me. Then again, you’re pretty much the only person I talk to.”

“What about Rachel Mercer?”

“I hardly know Rachel. She’s just someone I sit next to in AP Euro. Besides, why would Rachel say anything to me about your mom?”

Selena took a drink of iced tea. “My mom sort of . . . walked out on us a couple years back.”

I inhaled sharply. It wasn’t what I’d expected. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Selena. That must have been really tough.”

She nodded.

“Does she still live in Playa Hermosa? Do you see her often?”

“We haven’t heard from her since she left.” She gave a sad little laugh. “I actually have no idea where she is.”

“Wait . . .” I shook my head, trying to get my head around what she was saying. “You mean she just . . . took off without even telling you she was leaving? Without telling you where she was going?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, that’s shitty,” I said. And then, in case I’d offended her, “Sorry.”

She gave me a sad smile. “No, you’re right. It is shitty. It’s been really hard for my dad.”

“And for you, too, I bet.”

She nodded slowly. “It was kind of a big deal. At first we thought something had happened to her when she didn’t come home from work. My dad called the police and there was a big investigation. They even suggested she’d been having an affair. Then they found her car at the Cove, and they thought maybe she’d drowned or . . . committed suicide or something.”

Her face was so still, so lacking its usual animation, that I suddenly wanted to take it all back. Pretend I’d never asked about her mother. Rewind to when we were talking about friends and clothes and the dubious appeal of Hollister. I felt like a thief. Like I’d stolen the light in Selena’s eyes.

But it was too late. I’d already brought it up. And who knows? Maybe Selena needed to talk about it. I didn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but it probably involved more than just shopping. I silenced the voice in my head that urged caution, the one that said sharing secrets was the place where real attachment began.

“How do you know she didn’t?” I lowered my voice. “Commit suicide, I mean.”

“We got a letter a month after she left,” Selena said. “It didn’t say much. Just that she didn’t want to be a wife and mother anymore. That she needed to take care of herself, and she couldn’t do that taking care of us, too.” She shrugged. “We haven’t heard from her since.”