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“Of course she’s missing him,” Deirdre said. “It’s weird to be alone all of a sudden.”
“It’s been a weird week,” Elizabeth agreed. Suddenly, she just wanted to go home.
Before she could say anything, the maître d’ came and told them their table was ready. They all rose and moved toward the dining room, but Elizabeth wished she’d brought her own car. “I hate to be a party pooper, but I might have to blow off dinner. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
“A pu pu pooper,” Les said, and Deirdre rolled her eyes at him.
“Oh, come on,” Deirdre said. “We barely got here and we’re your ride.”
“I know, but—”
“I’ll take you home,” Gil put in.
That was the last thing she wanted. “Oh, no. Thank you, but I can call a cab.”
“Let me drive you,” Nadia said, but Deirdre insisted, “You have to stay just a little while longer. Please. It’s a four hour minimum for the nanny, so let’s use it up.”
“Umm . . . sure . . .” Elizabeth gave in with good grace and moved with the flow of them into the dining room. She was seated next to Gil on one side, Nadia on the other. When she just ordered the mushroom soup, everyone tried to get her to get something more, but she wasn’t hungry and stayed firm. Gil asked her about her work, and though she didn’t really want to talk, she also didn’t want to be rude, and she found herself telling him about her plans to sell the house and maybe find an apartment.
“I own a fourplex in Corona del Mar,” he told her. “One of the units is coming up this spring.”
Corona del Mar was known for its pricey living spaces. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” she said honestly. “I’ll be looking for something fairly reasonable.”
“You could take a look at it. I wouldn’t gouge you. Scout’s honor.” He lifted two fingers in the Boy Scout symbol and smiled.
“I’m not really sure when I’ll be putting the house on the market,” she said as away to dissuade him.
Tara leaned over from across the table “Take your time, Elizabeth.” She shot a look of annoyance at Deirdre who lifted her hands in a who me? gesture.
They ordered their entrées and the conversation turned to Dave Hofstetter and his golf game. He’d entered an amateur tournament and won. While Elizabeth spooned up her mushroom soup, he regaled them with a hole-by-hole recap that had Tara groaning and covering her ears in mock torture, saying, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard this?”
As they were looking over the dessert menus, Elizabeth got up to go to the women’s room.
“I’m coming, too,” Vivian said, dropping her menu and hurrying after Elizabeth.
Outside the restroom door, Vivian said, “Don’t be mad at Deirdre. I know it’s too soon, but she just wanted you to at least meet Gil. I guess women are all over him all the time, and he’s a great catch. None of us know exactly what you’re going through. We just want to help.”
Elizabeth pushed through the door. “I feel guilty that I don’t feel worse.” Once they were alone in the room, she stood near the counter and admitted, “I just kind of wanted to get away from the table for a few minutes.”
“You mean get away from Gil. I kind of figured.” Vivian hesitated, glanced into the mirror, her gaze meeting Elizabeth’s in the glass. “I was going to talk to you. You know that other group I go to? Where I met Nadia?”
“Yes.” It was a grief counseling group. Vivian had lost her first child to SIDS and had joined after the little boy died.
“It’s all women, and we only go by first names, but we’ve all suffered in some way, whether it’s abusive relationships or sudden tragedy. It’s kind of loosely formed, but it’s really helpful. Maybe you want to come with me tomorrow.” She offered a tentative smile.
“Tomorrow?” Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “I don’t know if I really qualify for your group. What I’m feeling seems more guilt than grief.”
“It’s all mixed up together. Survivor’s guilt and sadness and regret and grief. You know that.”
“Yeah, but . . .” She trailed off as she thought about her daughter and what she’d said earlier about Court not loving her—which reminded her . . . “Chloe asked me about the woman Court was with, the one he killed was how she phrased it.”
“What?” Vivian said.
“I was trying to figure out where she heard that. I asked her, but she wouldn’t say.”
“Oh, God. I think it was Lissa.” Vivian held her hand to her mouth for a moment, then bit her lip. “She overheard Bill and me talking about the accident and asked us who was killed. I thought I explained it, but she must’ve got it wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elizabeth said.
