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“It was a turquoise bag?” Mom asks.
Lark angles toward her and replies, “AnHermèsbag. I recognize it fromSex and the City. They had a whole episode about the bag.”
My mom stands and walks to the end of the deck, looking out over the yard. Port gets up and goes to her. “What is it?”
She rubs her hands over her arms like she’s cold. “Betsy owns an Hermès. Turquoise specifically. She bought it on a trip a group of us took to London.” A mischievous grin settles on her face, making me think there’s more to the story. But then her expression sours. “She always makes a scene over that purse, once even demanding it have a seat in a sold-out event. Laila ended up standing the rest of the night just to shut Betsy up.” The memory wrinkles my mom’s face, but then she asks, “You spilled tea on it?”
When laughter bubbles up, my mom clamps her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t a laughing matter. What she said to you was awful. I’m still shocked someone could say such horrid things to another person, but honestly, they’re just not good people.” My mom says the last part almost sheepishly as if she’s done something wrong. Her better nature makes her feel guilty. She doesn’t need that relationship dragging her down.
Dad looks at Lark again, his features tightening. “It’s a shame you had to deal with that, but it doesn’t surprise me to hear Betsy’s involvement.”
If the Bensimones try to fuck with my girl.Not going to fucking happen.
“They’re not good people,” he repeats after my mom. I think the beer is kicking in, but I still support my dad’s honesty.
“That’s the last straw with them.”
John says, “This night took a turn I didn’t see coming.” He takes a swig from his can. “Nothing like betrayal to set things in motion.”
We’re all just staring at him, not only unsure of what he’s referring to but also, I’m hoping he continues and gets the dirt out on the table. Lark’s still staring at him when his eyes meet hers. I’m not sure what they exchange at that moment. Maybe it’s something they’ve developed, a silent form of communication that only they share, but Lark suddenly says, “They were saying terrible things about your family. Mrs. Bensimone and the other lady.” And then she downs her water.
The three of us remain silent, unsure how to comprehend what she just said, but John sits forward, resting his arms on his legs. “There’s always more to the story.”
I roll the admission around my mind to connect the dots. “Terrible things about your family.”Her words finally make sense. “You dumped tea on her bag because of what she was saying about me.”
“I dumped tea onherbecause of what she was saying about the Westcott family. The bag was just collateral damage.”
Silence encircles us again until my mom says, “I don’t think I want to know what was said, but . . .” She moves to sit by Lark. “She’s always been a jealous bitch.”
“Mom,” I say, shocked but holy shit, that was awesome.
“Sorry, it slipped” She shrugs. I’d like to thank you. You don’t owe my family anything, but knowing that someone stood up for us . . . Thank you.”
“It’s really not a—”
“It is,” I say before she has a chance to undermine the good she’s done. “You stood up for what was right when you had something to lose.”
“It’s only a loss if it meant something to you. It was a job. I can find another.”
Rubbing Lark’s arm, she adds, “I’d like to help however I can.” My mom’s a fixer. It’s hard for her to sit and do nothing when there’s an injustice. “I could call Larry—”
“No, really. Thank you, but I think my catering days are over. I enjoy cooking occasionally, but I don’t love to work with food every day.”
John stands, and I have a feeling the party will be over soon. “I’ve tried to get Lark to come work at the shop for years. I pay a fair wage, but it’s always been something about working with her pops. Yada yada.”
My mom asks, “Have you ever been into cars like your dad?”
She says, “I can usually get within the realm of make and model but forget it when it comes to engines or anything else. I was always stuck at the shop as a kid. I hung out by choice in middle school. It was the only way to really spend time with my dad. He worked all the time to make ends meet.”
Laughter lightens the mood, and my mom singsongs, “Sounds like someone I know.” My dad shrugs it off. Standing up, my mom dusts off her pants. “Well, if nothing else comes from this, and let’s hope it lies where it landed, it’s fair to say the Bensimones and Westcotts are going their separate ways.”
“Thank fuck,” I add with a humorless chuckle.
Shooting me a look that would crumple a weaker man, she waits for it. “Sorry.”And crumple me, apparently.
Lark stands. “I’m getting more water. Does anyone else need anything?”
“I’ll go with you,” my mom says. “I think it’s almost time for us to go anyway.” They walk into the kitchen, but with the door open, I catch some of their conversation when it wafts outside. “Lovely night . . .”
