“Tammy, is that your dog I hear barking?” Oscar said, cupping his ear as he set his elbow on the open window of his SUV and pretended to listen.
“Is it Barry?” Tammy paused to listen for the cries of Barry, a black-and-white Chihuahua and one of the nastiest little dogs ever to walk the earth. If you ever tried to pet him, he’d bite your finger with the viciousness of a piranha. “Oh my goodness. It’s his mealtime.”
“You probably better go feed him,” Oscar said.
“Best be off, then. Barry isn’t going to feed himself!” Tammy hurried away from us, finally clearing the driveway.
“You should’ve let me kick her,” I said.
Oscar sighed next to me. “She isn’t worth it,” he told me.
“Agree to disagree.”
Oscar studied my profile. “She’s older. She’s got outdated ideas.”
“No kidding. It’s still not an excuse.”
“Want to talk about—”
“No,” I said through gritted teeth. I didn’t want to talk about how Stokes told everyone after prom that I’d come on tohim, that I’d been grinding on him in the slow dance, the same excuse he’d used for the other girls he sent crying to the bathroom at the homecoming dance, and then later at the frat parties at the University of Wisconsin.
I didn’t want to talk about how it was always the women lying, especially the intern who accused him of assault last year. She was just after notoriety and money. I didn’t want to talk about the Stokes family’s expensive defense lawyer and their connections to the judge in town, and judges seemingly everywhere else, and how all charges against Stokes—every time—were dismissed with prejudice.
Or how most people in Lake Sanguis loved piling on himpathy: Poor Alec Stokes! What will it do to that poor guy’s prospects! Real criminals didn’t come from pillars of the community, and they certainly didn’t wear designer polos and expensive platinum watches, no matter how often they were accused of the same crimes over and over again.
We women were just space trash, all gold diggers, floating along in the universe, lucky to get pulled into Stokes’s gravity.
“Oscar! Wait!” Olivia shouted, jogging out of Koi in a hoodie, with her backpack slung over one shoulder. “Drop me at class?” She pressed her hands together in prayer.
“I am never going to get to the station,” Oscar moaned, looking at the roof of his car. “Come on, then.” He tapped the side of his door out his open window. “Get in!”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Olivia said as she stuffed herself in the passenger side.
Mom trotted outside after her, wearing a red sweater and trendy wide-legged denim and carrying a wicker basket filled with some leftover charred banana muffins from yesterday. Oscar was smart enough to throw the car in reverse before she could offer him one.
“Stay out of trouble, Thin Ice,” he cautioned me as he lifted two fingers off his steering wheel and dipped the brim of his hat. “Love you, Mom!”
“Love you back!” she called behind me. I watched his SUV pull out of the drive.
“Nowthatis a wonderful child,” Mom said, as if we didn’t already know he was her favorite. “He goes by his given name.”
“Ella is my middle name,” I said.
“Yes, but if you’d used yourfirstname, Ophelia, like Octavia said, then maybe you would’ve had better luck with the podcast.”
I groaned. “Mom, I’m not going around introducing myself as Hamlet’s doomed girlfriend.”
“It’s a pretty name.”
“It’s atragicname,” I pointed out. “She had three men manipulating her, and zero personal agency, so she goes insane and drowns herself.”
“She was the most gorgeous character in the play,” Mom pointedout. “Andthe one with the best heart.” Mom frowned at me. “You haven’t had breakfast. Muffin?”
“Not if you actually want me to eat,” I said, eyeing the blackened balls.
“More for the koi then,” she said, shrugging. Mom fed Diamond Dave, Joan Jett, and the others our leftovers. I followed her over to the pond, out of morbid curiosity. Koi ate anything, it was true, but Mom’s muffins? This was a stretch even for those bottom feeders. I watched as Mom threw out a black ball and it hit the top of the pond with a heavy splash.
She side-eyed my stained sweatshirt and uncombed hair. “You should comb your hair.”
