Page 23 of Sweet Ruin

But again, I have to remind myself to bury my resentment just a little bit longer.

“Happy to,” I say. I fake like I’m leaving, then say, as if it just occurred to me, “Oh, and we’ll do the slideshow right after dinner?”

She’s already turning back into the house. “Sure, sure. After dinner. I don’t care either way, dear. I’m sure no one will be paying much attention anyhow.”

She’s wrong about that. But at least I got the answer I drove out here for.

It was a close call, though. One tear-stained phone call from Vivian nearly canceled the whole thing. Sheer dumb luck got it back, and I won’t get that lucky twice.

If the show doesn’t go on tonight, it never will.

And one thing’s for damn sure:

This show must go on.

I go from sweaty to frigid in just the time it takes to walk out to where my car is parked on the curb. Then, to compound my misery, my car heater decides to take its sweet time firing up.

While I wait, I sit with my hands on the wheel and go over everything.

The screen is up on the long wall.

The projector is cabled down and dialed in, with my laptop cued up and ready to roll.

We’ll eat dinner at seven and herd everybody into the living room after. Fifty people, all unprepared witnesses for the public shaming of a lifetime.

It all seems set.

One thing’s still bothering me, though.

My mom bringing up Vivian’s photo scare. Something about the way she did it was just wrong. After a moment of thought, I realize why.

She didn’t ask what the photos were.

That’s strange, right? What does a normal person say when you tell them you’re having a meltdown about accidentally sharing some photos on your phone? You’d say, What kind of photos, wouldn’t you?

But she didn’t. She didn’t ask me, and she didn’t ask Vivian, either, as far as I can tell.

Definitely strange. But it’s also very Leanne. I don’t know if she’s a narcissist in the strict psychiatric sense of the word, but for sure she’s mostly concerned with herself.

Honestly, if she’d asked a follow-up question, that would have been the alarming thing. I’d have checked her for a fever.

Which, fine. Today, it works in my favor. The fewer questions between me and that projector, the better.

At long last, the heat finally kicks in. I cup my hands over the vent until I can feel them again.

Then I put the car in drive and pull out.

Party’s in six hours.

I’ve got a slideshow to finish.

5

DELILAH

I get home a little after one on Christmas Eve. It’s a gloomy day, like the sun just didn’t show up for work.

Before I can even get out of the car, I feel my phone vibrate in the cupholder.