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He nods and pushes a hand through his thick hair—I’m so glad he still has his hair. “I’m going to get a beer. Anybody want anything?” he asks my friends. “Kate? Patti? Monica?”
They all shake their heads, but I can see their eyes feasting on him. I can’t be jealous, either. Let’s face it: Nathan’s feastworthy. Six three, very broad shouldered, and with very nice abs. He works out daily, always has.
“How about you, darling girl?” he asks, turning to me. “Gin and tonic with lots of lime?”
I smile up at him. “I love you.”
“I know you do.”
I watch him walk away, thinking again that I’m so lucky that it sometimes makes me feel guilty, having so much. I certainly didn’t have any of this growing up. Growing up . . .
Growing up was a nightmare.
I shudder, push the thought away, telling myself to focus on the here and now. Everything’s good today. Everything’s great. And it’s not as if I just fell into this amazing life. I worked to get here, worked to make it happen. Now if only I could relax and enjoy it more.
“Oh, my God.” Monica leans forward, grabs Kate’s arm. “Lucy’s here.”
“What?”
Monica nods across the pool. “She’s just walked in, and she’s got the kids.”
Our heads all swivel toward the pool entrance, and Monica’s right. Lucy Wellsley is walking around the deep end of the pool, a beach tote bag over her shoulder, a stack of colorful striped towels in her arms as her three kids, two boys—fraternal twins—and a little girl, all run ahead.
“Should we invite her to join us?” Patti asks, glancing at me.
“I don’t know.” I mean, I feel bad for her, but infidelity? Affairs? This is bad. Really bad.
“She’s brave,” Kate mutters. “I wouldn’t show my face here.”
“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about extending an invitation,” Monica practically purrs. “Because Lucy’s on her way here now.”
Chapter Two
Lucy stands next to us, her arms still bundled around the thick stack of fuchsia and turquoise beach towels. “Hi,” she says brightly. Too brightly.
I feel for her, I do, especially as she has to know that everyone’s talking about her. God, what a nightmare. I’d rather die than be discussed by all the other moms.
Patti stands and gives Lucy and her towels a quick hug. “Hi, stranger,” Patti says. “How are you?”
Lucy’s gotten thin, and not attractively thin. Her eyes look huge in her face, the skin pulled too taut across her cheekbones and jaw, ruining the effect of all her expensive work. “Fine. What are you girls up to?”
“Not much,” I answer, and really, my troubles are nothing compared with her drama.
“When did you get back in town?” Monica asks.
Lucy appears momentarily rattled. “I’ve been here.” There’s a pause. “Was I supposed to be out of town?”
Monica has the grace to blush. “Sorry. I was thinking of Pete.” No one says anything, and Monica adds even more awkwardly, “He was the one out of town. He had the kids, right?”
Lucy’s fingers tighten on the towels, her fingers and knuckles shades of purple and white. She swallows hard. “They’ve just come home.” Her voice has dropped and deepened, reminding me of bruises. “It’s been a month since I’ve had them. Or seen them.”
I can’t help glancing toward her kids, who are in the pool, jumping and diving as though they haven’t a care in the world, and my chest tightens.
They’re pretending. Kids do that so well. Pretend to forget. Pretend you don’t feel. Pretend you don’t remember.
We had to do that in our family, too, when my parents divorced. Act like you’re just a kid and you don’t hurt. Act like you feel nothing and all you care about is your TV show and your bowl of ice cream. Because you are only a kid, right, no real feelings developed yet. . . .
Nathan returns just then with our drinks and welcomes Lucy with a genuinely warm hug and hello. “Hello, Lucy,” he says, handing me my drink before leaning down to kiss her cheek.
She stands stiffly, her body at an angle as though afraid to be caught touching him.
“Hi, Nate,” she says, using her husband’s nickname for Nathan. I’d never call Nathan “Nate” in a thousand years, but for some reason all Nathan’s friends shorten it up.
“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to our grouping.
Lucy looks at us, her eyes nearly as lavender blue as her voice. She’s depressed. It’s there, all over her face. I bite down, uncomfortable. “That’s okay,” she answers, sensing correctly that she’s not wanted.
Nathan shakes his head. “No, I insist. Let me get you a chair.”
“Nate, no. I can do it. Honestly. I’m not sick.”
But Nathan’s already gone to locate a chair, and once he’s returned we all settle into a rather stilted conversation about the coming school year and the start of soccer, although Patti’s boys have been playing football for nearly three weeks already.
Our kids appear periodically with requests for food and drink and ice cream, requests we all manage to resist to varying degrees.
“Hey, isn’t our book club meeting soon?” Patti asks with a small self-satisfied stretch. It’s nice just sitting here, feet up. The kids are happy. We’re happy. There’s nothing we have to do.
“One week,” I answer. I’m hosting the September meeting. Haven’t even thought about book club in a while. “I guess I better get reading.”
“You haven’t read The Glass Castle yet?” Monica’s lips purse disapprovingly.
I flex my toes. “It just sounds so depressing. Another memoir about a dysfunctional family. I mean, haven’t we read that already?”
“Book club isn’t genre reading, Taylor. We’re not just reading for the plot, but the beautiful prose.”
“I don’t find poverty, abusive parents, and alcoholism beautiful. No matter how one writes about it.” I’m irritated now. I don’t know why everyone gets such a vicarious thrill out of reading about childhood pain. I certainly don’t. “I wish we’d pick some different books this year. More uplifting subjects, maybe even some nonfiction.”
Monica rolls her eyes. “The Glass Castle is nonfiction.”
Monica so annoys me. I can’t even believe that we pretend to be friends. I don’t know why she does it. I do it because she’s Patti’s childhood friend, and Patti says she has a good side, although I haven’t seen it.
“The point is,” I answer, folding my hands neatly in my lap, “that we’ve read lots of stuff like this before, and I t
hought we could maybe read something more uplifting.”
Monica laughs. “Like what? The Secret?”
My face suddenly feels hot. She knows I’ve been reading the book and have it on DVD, too.
Thankfully, Nathan saves me from having to answer by placing his palm on my bare thigh. “We should head home.” He lightly rubs down to my knee. “Feed the kids dinner.”
Grateful, I cover his hand with mine and squeeze. I’m ready to go. My little gin-and-tonic buzz has abruptly worn off, and all I want to do is escape. Rising, I start gathering the girls’ things, organizing the sundresses and sandals to expedite getting to the car. It’s while I tuck suntan lotion and little-girl sunglasses into the tote bag that I hear Nathan invite Lucy over.
“We’re just throwing some salmon steaks on the grill,” Nathan is saying to Lucy, “and I can pick up some burgers on the way home for the kids. Why don’t you join us?”
My head jerks up.
Lucy for dinner? Lucy to our house . . . tonight? After the day I’ve had? No, Nathan, no. I don’t want company over. I’m not in the mood to entertain, and if I was in the mood, it wouldn’t be Lucy.
“That’s so nice of you, Nate,” Lucy answers, “but I don’t want to put you and Taylor out—”
“If it were an inconvenience, I wouldn’t have offered.” Nathan smiles down at her. “We haven’t seen much of you lately, and it’d be good to catch up.”
“Let me go talk to the kids. We were just going to hang out here until they kicked us out, but it’d be fun to go to your house. We . . . haven’t seen much of our friends this summer.”
She disappears, and I just stare at Nathan. He sees my expression. “What?” he demands quietly, hands outstretched.
My friends turn their heads away while I just keep staring at Nathan. I hear Patti start talking about the back-to-school brunch as Nathan crosses to my side.
“I thought she was one of your friends,” he hisses.
“She is,” I hiss back. But my tone isn’t convincing. I don’t know if Lucy and I are still friends. Angrily, I stuff Brooke’s terrycloth jacket into the tote. “It’s just been a busy day, Nathan—”
