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Laurel slid her phone back into her clutch and gave Emma a sidelong glance. “You don’t seem like you’re in much of a partying mood tonight. Cheer up!”
Emma tried not to flinch. Laurel had arrived back at the house mere minutes after Emma had escaped from her room. Emma had watched her go into her bedroom and stand in the middle of the carpet, one finger tapping her lip. Then she’d wheeled around and stared at Emma, who’d quickly turned and hurried into the bathroom as though she hadn’t been staring. Did Laurel know she’d been in there? Did she know what Emma had found?
Images of the bloody racket filtered through my mind as I stared at Laurel. Did she feel remorse? How could she pretend everything was okay?
Shrugging off Laurel’s comment, Emma followed Mr. Mercer up cobblestone steps and past a crystal fountain filled with orange-and-white goldfish the size of hamsters. She caught her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors just inside the lobby, barely recognizing herself. She’d chosen an emerald green cocktail dress and gold kitten heels from Sutton’s closet. The dress had still had a price tag attached; it had cost over $700. She’d slid into it tentatively, terrified she was going to rip a seam or get deodorant on it.
“There’s my birthday boy!” a familiar, husky voice rang out. Grandma Mercer, dressed in a black-and-gold ball gown that looked like something a woman of a certain age might wear to the Oscars, floated elegantly through the lobby. She grabbed Mr. Mercer’s arm. “Come, come!” she said excitedly, her mouth standing out in bright pink lipstick. “The place looks amazing!”
She shot smiles at Laurel and Emma, and then led them past plush white leather couches that surrounded a fireplace. Brown-and-black-spotted cowhide rugs covered the rustic wooden floor. Grandma pushed two glass doors open, and they stepped onto a stone patio surrounded by acres of desert overlooking a dark blue man-made pond. The patio was already filled with guests. The men wore a mix of dark suits, linen pants, and crisp button-downs, while women were dressed in chic, jewel-toned cocktail dresses. The sun hovered over the horizon, dyeing the sky cotton-candy pink, and waitresses buzzed amid the crowd with cocktails.
“Kristin has outdone herself,” Mr. Mercer said in a she-shouldn’t-have sort of voice, but Emma could tell he was extremely pleased.
Grandma’s brow furrowed. “I helped, too,” she said sharply.
Instead of responding to his mother, Mr. Mercer focused on someone across the patio. Emma stood on her tiptoes, and a chill passed through her. It was Thayer Vega, looking effortlessly handsome in slim-cut chinos and a white oxford, his longish hair pushed back off his face. He was talking to his father and nodding adamantly.
Mr. Mercer’s face turned pale. He leaned close to Emma and Laurel. “Did one of you invite him?”
Suddenly, Mrs. Mercer sidled up between them. She looked beautiful in a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, and diamond studs glinted in her ears. “Is everything okay, sweetie? Isn’t this an amazing party?”
Mr. Mercer gave her a look. “What’s he doing here?”
Sutton’s mother followed his gaze, then set her mouth in a line. “Well, I invited the Vegas,” Mrs. Mercer said. It was obvious the effort it took to keep her voice calm. “Naturally they’d assume that meant Thayer, too. Now, please, just relax and enjoy yourself. We don’t want to make waves.”
Mr. Mercer’s face turned to stone. “I meant what I said, girls,” he said, his dark eyes flashing. “Promise me I can trust you.”
Emma threw her hands up in defense. “Of course.”
“You can always trust me, Daddy,” Laurel added sweetly, tucking a lock of pale blond hair behind her ear.
Almost immediately, Mr. Mercer was swept up by some of his guests, and Emma wandered toward the buffet table, which was stocked with every kind of food imaginable, from sliders to filets mignons, grilled vegetables to complicated-looking soufflés.
After popping a cheese cube in her mouth, Emma looked around to see if any of her friends or Ethan had arrived. Through the crowd, she spotted one of the Mercers’ neighbors gesticulating as she entertained a group of women. “And we invited Pastor Wilkins to that book club! Who knew an Oprah’s Book Club pick would be so racy!” she trilled. Two little girls sipped Shirley Temples by the bar, pretending they were adults. Then she caught a glimpse of Mr. Chamberlain, Charlotte’s father. He stood with his arm around Charlotte’s mom, who wore a short leopard-print dress that hugged her flawless figure. Just then, Sutton’s father crossed the patio and thumped Mr. Chamberlain hard on the back. Charlotte’s dad said something into Mr. Mercer’s ear, and Mr. Mercer threw his head back with laughter.
Emma blinked. She hadn’t realized those two knew each other. She’d only met Mr. Chamberlain once, the very night she’d arrived in Tucson. He’d greeted her uncomfortably in the Sabino Canyon parking lot, like she’d caught him somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. She sensed something wasn’t quite right in the Chamberlain home, but Charlotte had never opened up, and Emma hadn’t wanted to pry.
“Sutton?” cried a voice behind her.
Emma swung around and nearly smacked into Charlotte, Madeline, and the Twitter Twins. Each was dressed in a gorgeous cocktail dress. Charlotte’s was red, which perfectly accented her peaches-and-cream skin, Madeline’s was a vampy purple-black, and the twins wore shiny silver and gold numbers that barely covered their thighs.
“Say cheese!” Gabby said, angling her camera to snap a photo. “I’m gonna tweet something about how fun fifty-fifth birthday parties can be—if you have the right attitude.” She winked.
