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“I’m afraid we’re out in the afternoon for swimming lessons, but I could order a bunch of pizzas and you can come over and hang out.” The two words—hang out—seem to remain there, hovering awkwardly in the air, before they fall, silent, to the ground. I cannot exactly see our five children hanging out together, but they’re young, they’ll get along eventually. Kids always do.
I turn to Ben and Katherine, lowering my voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ll both be lifesavers to my three. We’ve only been here a week and they’re already bored to tears.” Zoe snorts in derision, showing my words for the lie they obviously are.
“Thank you,” Tessa says at last. “That would be great.”
“Perfect.” I give a little satisfied nod. “Shall we say five?”
Tessa nods jerkily. “Five it is.”
After a flurry of goodbyes, I head back down the path to our house, Zoe trotting behind me. I feel strangely, surprisingly exhilarated by the conversation, which is something new. Everything social has exhausted me lately: the endless routine of conversations and gossip, the sneaky sniping, the careful quips. It seems so utterly pointless now.
At least Tessa is different; she’s the kind of person who will no doubt be grateful for my friendship. As arrogant as I know that makes me sound, it’s still true. I won’t have to watch myself with her, which is a relief. And she’s a distraction, which I desperately need.
“Why did you invite them to dinner?” Zoe asks as we reach the set of steep, wooden stairs that lead to the deck. They must be a nightmare in winter. “They’re boring.”
“Why did you go on about the beachfront?” I retort, my annoyance slipping through. “Honestly, Zoe, what a bratty thing to do.”
Zoe juts her lower lip out, and I turn away, unwilling to deal with her theatrics right now. Let her be furious. “We need to be at the club in ten minutes. Go get ready, and tell Charlotte and Max as well.”
Zoe huffs as she goes off, and I am alone in the huge, gleaming expanse of the kitchen. I place my hands flat on the granite-topped island and breathe in deeply.
I think back to Tessa, slumping where she stood, an apology for herself. She could use a makeover, or at least a decent set of tweezers. I toy with the idea of helping her make the most of herself; that would certainly be a project, and might keep me busy. Then I glance at my phone and see that Josh has texted me yet again.Everything okay?
I grab the phone and thumb a quick text.Yes. Fine. Just met the neighbors!Smiley face and a heart. I toss the phone back onto the counter, disgusted with both myself and my husband, at the charade we’re both willingly enacting because it’s so much easier than admitting the fault lines that have appeared in our marriage, the cracks that are growing wider with every passing day.
Josh has texted me every morning, afternoon, and evening since I’ve been here, but he doesn’t want totalk. He just wants to check up on me, the jailer rattling my chain, making sure I’m still suitably tethered.
He’s called Charlotte on her phone, and talked to the other children nearly every day too, but not a proper word for me. Not a conversation, not that I’d even know what to say, how to begin. We’ve been tryingnotto have a conversation for months.
Upstairs, I hear the children shuffling around, getting ready for tennis. I walk to the fridge, leaning my cheek against the cool stainless steel for a few seconds before I open the door and take out the bottle of white wine I picked up in Geneseo during the last grocery trip. There’s a quarter inch left, after two days. Not bad. I quickly swig right from the bottle, the cool, crisp taste zinging on my tongue as I swallow and then sending up a needed glow in my stomach.
By the time Zoe stomps downstairs, dressed in her gleaming tennis whites, the bottle is in the bottom of the recycling bin and I am smiling, car keys in hand.
“Hey, there. Are Charlotte and Max ready?”
“Almost,” Zoe says in a bored voice, and as she fetches her tennis racquet I give my reflection a quick glance, noticing the deepening crow’s feet by my eyes. I can see a few gray strands amid the careful highlighting. Maybe I’m the one who needs a makeover. Not that a makeover is going to help me now.
For a second I feel that now-familiar consuming wave of dread, as if I’m being sucked down a hole and there is nothing I can do about it. Oh, I could go the usual route of the bored housewife—mindfulness, yoga, Valium. The trinity of self-care that everyone in my world does. The trouble is, I don’t think anything will help me now. I’m drowning, and no one can save me.
CHAPTER THREE
TESSA
We are all a bit subdued as we head into Pine Cottage after our interaction with Zoe and Rebecca Finlay. The house feels strangely quiet, my ears practically ringing the way they would after a rock concert, when you’re plunged into sudden, breathless stillness. Katherine barricades herself in the bedroom and Ben sprawls on the sofa in his wet swimsuit.
“Ben! Change.”
He groans but at least he gets up. I change out of my suit and as I hang it up with Katherine and Ben’s on the frayed line strung between two trees outside, I see Rebecca and the kids getting into a shiny, enormous SUV parked in the driveway of their house.
Standing here, I realize just how much I can see of their house, their lives—the big picture window is practically like a movie screen; I can even see the shape of some sofas and chairs in the room beyond. It all looks sumptuous and comfortable, the best of both worlds.
Only a few straggly trees separate our properties, so I have a clear view of their deck and the steep stairs up to it, as well as the manicured lawn leading down to their lakefront, with its manmade beach and long dock. I squint and make out a tall, slender girl drifting toward the car from the deck—that must be Charlotte—and a small, slight boy with glasses following behind, who must be Max. Then Zoe struts out, carrying her tennis racquet like a rifle over one shoulder, and as I watch, she turns her head and her eyes narrow. I realize she’s looking right at me.
I duck out of view, behind my dripping suit, but it’s too late. She’s seen me spying on them, and will no doubt tell her mother. This is going to be a long summer.
Back inside, Ben has found his Kindle Fire in my bag and is stretched out on the sofa, hard at play. Katherine stands uncertainly in the doorway of the bedroom she will share with Ben, looking, as ever, as if she doesn’t know where or even how to be.
“Do you want to help me get the bags from the car?” I suggest and she shrugs. I glance at Ben. “You too, Ben. Come and help.”
