“I agree. But I get the feeling Kate is blaming Isabel for it. Has she said anything to you?”
“No. I just think she’s worried about Sam.”
“Well, of course!” Scotty said. “If you can’t act out after your mother gets murdered, when can you?” She caught the look Lulu gave her and checked herself. Drinking always made her want to be outrageous—the worst was when she drunk-texted or posted political messages on Facebook or Twitter. The next day she’d go back and do a mad scrub, furiously deleting everything. At least Lulu was drinking too and hopefully wouldn’t remember.
“This is really hard on Kate,” Lulu said.
Scotty peered at her. Lulu always looked so chic. She and Kate hadn’t had children. They’d kept their svelte shapes and single-woman attitudes. While Scotty wore a Hawaiian-print bathing suit with the hint of a frilled skirt to cover her thighs and built-in bra cups to keep everything from wobbling, Lulu wore a white lace halter dress over her black bikini and looked like a model from the Sundance catalog, where they were all too thin, too pretty, and far too cool.
“It’s hard onallof us,” Scotty said, staring out at Isabel. “We loved Beth too. And let’s face it—she confided in us more than she did Kate. Has anyone talked to Jed, by the way? He must be destroyed.”
“Kate met him,” Lulu said. “She hasn’t told me the details yet, but she texted that she found him.”
“I can’t believe I had to be the one to tell her about him. I felt so awful. And I haven’t heard from her at all, as if she’s blaming me. Where is he, anyway?”
“Camping somewhere,” Lulu said, sipping her drink and looking away as if she wanted to evade further questions. That was so Lulu—keeping Kate mostly to herself. It had always hurt Scotty, the way the two of them were a closed society. Beth had felt that way too. Scotty felt herself burning over it.
“Sometimes you seem so superior,” Scotty said.
“What?”
“Yes, you and Kate. The pilots. Above it all, better than me and Beth. It hurts.”
“I’m sorry; I don’t mean to make you feel that way,” Lulu said, sounding genuinely surprised. Was it possible she didn’t know how fat and suburban and boring Scotty felt beside her?
“Well, you do,” Scotty said. She realized she was slurring her words but took another long drink anyway. She was about to tip over into weepy territory, feeling sorry for herself about Beth, feeling helpless about Isabel’s pain—and even Jed’s. Beth hadn’t treated him very well at the end.
And then there was Julie. Her beautiful little girl with schizotypal personality disorder. The name alone terrified her, but the reality was even worse. Even the literature was hurtful—people with the disorder were labeled “odd and eccentric.” Julie turned inward, had never had a close friend. She didn’t know how to interpret people’s words and actions, so she was easily hurt and confused.
Julie had started dreaming about the murder, screaming out in her sleep.
“When I think about Sam’s mommy, it hurts me a lot!” she cried while Scotty rocked her.
Scotty wanted her daughter to feel peace, to not be so scared. She felt as if Julie’s fears would pass as time went by, but some nights they were extreme.
“Sweetie, it was just a dream,” Scotty whispered, holding her.
“Bad person, terrible bad person,” Julie had said, shaking as she’d cried.
The rest of Julie’s diagnosis, receptive and expressive aphasia and language processing disability, meant that she experienced life in ways both simpler and more complicated than everyone else. She got so frustrated trying to get her thoughts and feelings out.
Scotty told the pediatrician, asking if it would be appropriate to give Julie something for anxiety. The doctor had suggested taking Julie to therapy. And Scotty was more than willing to do that, but in the last few days, Julie had seemed quieter, retreating into her safe, private world.
Nick was far from helpful. He would come home from the office, throw on his shorts and Nikes, and go running for hours, sometimes until dark. He was training for the Labor Day half marathon, aiming for next year’s New York City Marathon. He had told Scotty a bunch of people from work were doing it. Scotty pictured the women in his office. Everyone but her was in shape. She downed a big gulp of her drink.
“Let’s take a swim,” Lulu said, reaching for her hand. “It will be good for us.”
“I’m looped.”
“We don’t have to go out far.”
“That detective is coming to see Isabel later,” Scotty said. “I should go up to the house and take a nap. I have the G&T flu.” She paused, glancing at Lulu. “Who do you think did it?”
“Mostly I think Pete.”
“Me too, but sometimes I think Jed—I mean, she met him in prison.”
“I know,” Lulu said.
