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She scans the room until finally her eyes land on me. They settle on the book in my hands. She takes the last of the steps two at a time, smiling wryly. “It’s my mother’s favorite,” she tells me, moving in close. Her fingers brush the spine. She lowers her voice. “Better not let her see you touch it. She’s known to remove fingers for lesser offenses.”
I place the novel back on the shelf. Although, not before committing the title to heart. House of Leaves. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Have you seen my brother?” she asks. She poses the question as though I know who she is talking about, as though we aren’t strangers, as though her parents know everyone and anyone there, thereby entitling her to the same. It reminds me what it was like to be her age. Sixteen or so, I presume. Oh, to have the world at your feet—to have the pleasure of being too dumb to know all of the mistakes you’ll make and too smart to make all the ones you should.
“I haven’t,” I say. In fact, I haven’t yet met Neil, the Bankses' oldest child, although in retrospect it was obvious he’d be home. He isn’t the type to make friends easily, and in any case, Ann would want him around to show off.
A caterer swings by with a tray. I take an hors d'oeuvre and stuff it in my mouth. I find it interesting… at the grocery store, Ann spoke as though she were handling everything on her own. She made it sound like she was just having a few friends over for dinner—not the entirety of the neighborhood. Ann, ever the minimizer. Always one to under promise and over deliver. She posts that quote religiously on Instalook.
I have to give credit where credit is due. She certainly practices what she preaches. The music is just right. The lighting is great. Conversation flows. People enjoy themselves. In fact, every person I encounter emits the same sentiment. They can’t believe their luck to have landed in the vicinity of such greatness. They don’t say this outright, obviously. But it’s there, under the surface, in their every comment about how wonderful the Bankses are, what an outstanding entertainer Ann is, how lovely the party has turned out.
The next time the caterer swings by with a tray, I grab a few extra hors d'oeuvres so I have reserves. I even make it a point to chew slowly. Not only can I savor the taste, but so long as I have food in my mouth, I don’t have to actually speak to anyone. Food is comforting that way.
“Sadie!” Ann calls from the stairs. “You came.”
“I can’t stay for dinner,” I say sorrowfully, in the way that I’ve practiced. “But I didn’t want to be rude.” I offer up the bottle of wine I brought. It’s cheap on purpose, because I don’t have a job but also, I want her to know how much I need her. And I really, really need her.
She takes the bottle from my hands and turns it over in hers. Not even a twitch, not a muscle moves in her face, and it isn’t the Botox. She’s that good at controlling her emotions. I want to be, too. “Oh, Sadie. You could never be rude.”
Clearly, we aren’t that well acquainted yet. Her response surprises me. I understand she is a trained liar, sure. I just thought I would see it coming, is all. Apparently, there aren’t warning signs. I didn’t know it was possible a person could radiate such warmth while lying to your face.
This leads me to believe that maybe there’s more I don’t know. Maybe with enough effort, I can come to understand the kind of stuff she is made of. Maybe then, I’ll understand what’s inside me. Maybe then, I’ll know how far I, too, can go.
She motions me with her finger. “Would you mind helping me retrieve a few things from the garage?”
“Sure,” I say, too eagerly. First lesson, all the nicety in the world can’t make a person love you—and isn’t that what we’re all looking for to some degree? I know this so I follow as she leads the way.
“I almost forgot about the cheese tray…” Ann explains that she keeps everything out in the garage. Out of sight, out of mind. Her garage is detached from the house and she apologizes for the trek. She says at least it’ll give us a chance to get to know each other, in peace. But she walks with purpose, leaving little time for small talk, and anyway by the time we reach the garage I’m out of breath. I try to hide how out of shape I am, but it’s pretty obvious in my monosyllabic responses. Nerves cause me to be unsure of what to do with my hands so I stuff them in my pockets. Ann Banks has just said she wants to get to know me. If only, Ethan could see me now.
Ann opens the door to a subzero refrigerator before turning to me. It’s dark and chilly and the lighting is poor. “You shouldn’t stand like that,” she says. “With your hands in your pockets. No one will trust you.”
“Oh.” I slip my hands from my pockets and blow into them, hoping it will warm me.
She peers into the freezer. “Body language is everything, Sadie.”
My eyes search the garage, and as they adjust to the darkness, I spot a second refrigerator. “Would you mind grabbing the half and half?” She points noticing where my attention has gone. “It’s in that one.”
“Your home is lovely,” I remark, once I’ve done as she’s asked.
She sighs wistfully. “Our last house was much bigger.”
“You must miss it.”
“We lost everything,” she tells me. “Well, almost everything”—she slams the refrigerator door— “okay—not almost everything. But a lot.”
“I’m sorry—”
“We still have each other, and that’s what counts.”
“Exactly,” I say, because truer words have never been spoken. I’m beginning to think Ann’s followers are onto something. More than anything, I want to find out what her perceived losses are. She tells me about Stan at the grocery store, and how she heard that he hadn’t pulled through after all. Something about a brain bleed from his fall. Such a terrible thing, she says. Such a waste. She doesn’t say whether it was Creepy Stan or her efforts that were wasted but I get the sense she means the latter.
“Have you ever felt like killing someone Sadie?”
At first, I think I’ve heard her wrong. Her voice conveyed little emotion, so it’s hard to tell. When I turn to face her, she is calm and composed. But it’s clear she’s awaiting an answer.
“No.”
“Never?”
