Dollhouse (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Kat

“D
o you think Kassidy’s going to be okay?” Kat asked Beau worriedly.

“Hmm?” Beau was lying in bed next to her, reading the morning paper. “She’s going through some tough times, but she’s the strongest girl I know, next to you,” he reassured her.

“I hope you’re right.”

Kat was still adjusting to Kass’s news, a month after her big announcement. She remembered when she herself found out that she was pregnant for the first time, with Kass. Unexpectedly pregnant. It was hard enough, going through all that when she was just twenty-three. At least she’d had David. Kass was doing it all on her own.

“What about Kamille? Do you think
she’s
okay? I mean, is she
happy
?” Kat went on.

“Of course she’s happy, darlin’. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It’s all happening so fast. Her modeling, her engagement, this reality-TV show . . .”

“That’s Kamille for you. If she doesn’t have drama and excitement going on every second of her day, she’s bored to death. You know that.” He picked up the sports page and flipped through it.

Kat studied her nails; she was way overdue for a manicure. She knew deep down that Beau was right. And yet . . . she couldn’t shake the feeling that Kamille was on autopilot, racing through her crazy daily schedule without stopping to think things through or to even take a breath. She no longer came into the restaurant because she was just too busy. And when she was there, the camera crew was always with her. Like the other night when Kamille and Kass were speculating about Chase’s bachelor party while they sampled the specials in the kitchen. Or last week when the cameras caught all three girls arguing about Kamille’s choice of bridesmaids.

The phone rang. For a moment she thought it might be Kass, inviting Kat to come along to her ob-gyn appointment today, after all. (Weren’t mothers
supposed
to do that? Why did Kass insist on going to all these doctor visits alone?)

But it was the landline, not the cell. Kass never called on the landline. Almost no one did.

Kat reached for the phone on her nightstand. She didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID. She really
did
need a manicure, desperately. Pippa had told her that one of the many downsides of hitting menopause was excessive chipping and cracking.
Great.

“Hello?”

“Kat Romero, please.”

Her chest tightened at the sound of the official-sounding voice. “This is she.”

“Mrs. Romero, this is Lieutenant Sanchez from the Irvine Police Department.”

Oh dear God in heaven.
Kat knew, just knew, that something bad had happened to one of her children. This was the same call she had gotten almost five years ago, when she got the news about David’s accident.

But . . . Irvine? So many miles away? That didn’t make any sense.

“Mrs. Romero, are you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Sweetheart, who is that?” Beau whispered.

Kat put her finger to her lips. “Lieutenant Sanchez, what is this call in regard to?”

Beau raised his eyebrows. “Police?”

“I wanted to let you know that one of my men came upon a wallet belonging to your husband,” Lieutenant Sanchez explained.

Kat started. She turned to Beau. “You didn’t tell me you lost your wallet,” she said in a low voice.

“What are you talking about, honey? It’s right here.”

Beau pointed to the nightstand on his side of the bed. His wallet was sitting next to his “World’s Best Dad” coffee mug from Bree, his laptop, and his big, messy pile of loose change and receipts.

“My husband has his wallet. He just checked. You must have made a mistake,” Kat said to the lieutenant.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t make myself clear. I meant your
late
husband. Mr. David Romero.”

Kat’s gasped. “W-what did you say?”

“One of my officers found it in an abandoned home yesterday. It looked like it had been there for some time. It contained a bunch of credit cards, his driver’s license, his Social Security card, a few other pieces of ID, and two hundred dollars in cash. Oh, and a whole lot of family photos.”

Kat closed her eyes. She knew exactly which baby, school, and wedding photos Lieutenant Sanchez was talking about. She could still picture them, after all these years, just the way David had arranged them. “I don’t understand. What does this mean?” she said out loud.

“I can’t answer that question, Mrs. Romero. I’m assuming he didn’t take the wallet with him when he went sailing that day? In any case, I wanted to let you know, and also to make arrangements to get the wallet to you . . .”

But Kat was barely listening. Her thoughts were racing with this bizarre new development. David’s wallet had resurfaced after all this time . . . in
Irvine
of all places. How did it get there?

She remembered that day—that terrible, terrible day—when she’d gotten the news about his accident. He had gone sailing in the waters off Marina del Rey alone, saying he needed to clear his head about something. He didn’t usually sail solo, and she would have questioned him more about it as he was leaving the house. Except that the phone was ringing, and FedEx was at the door, and Kyle was late for her orthodontist’s appointment, and Kamille had spilled juice on her favorite dress, and Kass’s hard drive had crashed in the middle of some important homework assignment . . .

When the storm came up, he had called her on his cell and said he was heading back in. That was the last she ever heard from him. His boat, called
The Kassidy,
had turned up the next day, broken and battered, on a rocky, isolated stretch of beach near Malibu. His body was never found.

And now the police had come upon his wallet nearly five years later? In Irvine? She couldn’t even begin to wrap her brain around this. David used to keep all his belongings in a waterproof sack when he went sailing. Was it possible that the sack had turned up on shore, separately from the boat, and that some random person had picked it up? But if that was the case, why didn’t that person turn it in to the police before? Or take the cash?

When she finally hung up, Beau leaned over and cradled her face in his hands. “What’s happening, sweetheart? What’s this about David’s wallet?” he said quietly.

“I’ll tell you later,” Kat replied in a trembling voice. “Can you just hold me? For like an hour?”

“I’ll hold you all day if you want.”

Kat nestled in Beau’s arms, feeling numb. She lay like this for a long time. She knew she should just get up and get started with her day—she wanted to go to the gym, and she had a doctor’s appointment at eleven, and there was so much to do at the restaurant—but she couldn’t seem to move.

She had spent all these years putting her life back together: healing, rebuilding, moving on. And just like that, with a single phone call, she had plummeted back to the past. A past that (if she had to be completely honest) she had never quite made her peace with.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Kamille

“O
hmigosh, oven mitts! Thank you, Grandma Ferguson!”

Kamille fake-smiled and did her best to sound polite. Enthusiastic, even. She didn’t care so much about Grandma Ferguson or the rest of the bridal shower guests; she mostly cared about the TV cameras that were trained on her. She didn’t want to come across to her future viewers as some sort of spoiled bitch who only wanted Tiffany and Bloomingdale’s.

Even though that’s exactly what she wanted.

Grandma Ferguson beamed. “You’re welcome, dear! I knitted them myself for you and Charles.”

“Chase.”

“What, dear?”

“Chase!”

“What are we chasing, honeybunch?”

Kamille sighed. “Nothing, Grandma.”

She turned the hideous puke-tan oven mitts over in her hand, wondering how much longer the shower was going to last. She gazed out at the dining room full of relatives (close, distant, and unidentifiable) and friends (ditto), all of whom had agreed to sign release forms and wear microphones so they could be filmed for the show. Four TV camera guys were positioned in different strategic spots, missing nothing, and the lighting crew had transformed Café Romero from a cozy restaurant into a brightly lit set.

Kat was going from table to table greeting their guests and also overseeing the food and drinks. Kamille wasn’t sure, but her mother seemed preoccupied about something.

Looking bored (as usual), Kyle thrust another present at Kamille, wrapped in silver paper with the word
FOREVER
on it in fancy cursive. All the girls in the bridal party had been assigned a job, and Kyle’s was to hand Kamille her gifts.

“I think it’s wineglasses or whatever,” Kyle said in a low voice. “I can hear broken glass inside.” She put the box up to her ear and shook it.

Kamille heard it, too. “Oh, fuck!” she said loudly, before she could stop herself. Hank, the director, gave her a withering look. She was definitely not supposed to drop the F-bomb when they were filming. She mouthed “Sorry!” and began unwrapping.

Kass was sitting in a chair nearby, balancing a legal pad on her lap and jotting down which gift was from whom. That was
her
job, so Kamille could write everyone thank-you notes later. Kamille couldn’t imagine having to write a hundred thank-you notes by hand—hadn’t anyone ever heard of group e-mails? But Hank wanted to make a scene out of it. He’d even suggested that it might be “funny” if Kamille and her sisters mixed up the envelopes and sent the wrong thank-you notes to the wrong people.
Yeah, LOL!

Kass was tired looking and cranky, as usual. Some women seemed to blossom with their pregnancies; Kass was the opposite. The show’s makeup crew had done their best to cover up her dark circles and splotchy skin. (Did being pregnant give a person zits? Kamille was going to have to be careful with that one when she and Chase started their family.) They’d also tried to get her into a nice, stylish maternity outfit, versus the oversize black T-shirt and baggy leggings that had become her daily uniform, and contact lenses (like she used to wear) instead of her nerdy glasses.

But Kass wasn’t having any of that. She could be so stubborn—almost as stubborn as Kamille. And Kyle. And Kat. It must be a Romero family trait.

After the (broken) wine goblets came the next present, in a large gift bag with a picture of Winnie-the-Pooh on it. A pair of white leather baby shoes hung from the massive pink-and-pastel-blue bow.

Winnie-the-Pooh? Baby shoes? Kamille was confused. She reached inside and pulled out something that looked like a small gaming console.

“It’s a breast pump for when you can’t be there to nurse your little one,” her great-aunt Beatrice spoke up from one of the center tables. “They didn’t have those when I was young! You put it on your breast, like this, and when you flip the switch your milk comes out.” She demonstrated with her hands.

“Yeah, Kamille. I bet Chase’ll love helping you with that,” Simone called out, giggling.

Really?
In front of Aunt Beatrice and all the other old ladies in the room? And Chase’s
mom,
for God’s sake? “Shut the fuck up, Simone,” Kamille snapped.

Hank gave her another scathing look.

“I meant, shut the
heck
up. Aunt Beatrice, you’re so generous! And thoughtful! But you know,
Kass
is the one who’s having a baby. I’m getting married. This is my wedding shower.”

“Oh!” Aunt Beatrice frowned. “Which one is Kass? Is he the tall boy with the glasses?”

Kass slunk down in her chair.

Just get this thing over with,
Kamille told herself. Chase was waiting for her at home with a bottle of her favorite Chardonnay on ice. They were going to have a rare night in, together, without the cameras. She couldn’t wait.

Kyle handed Kamille more gifts. As she opened them, she cast a sideways glance at the large table of Goodall women in front: Chase’s mother; Chase’s sister, Amanda; a couple of aunts; and an assortment of cute blond cousins ranging in age from eight to eighteen. Chase’s mom didn’t look like she was having a good time. In fact, she was staring pointedly at her skinny diamond watch, like she had somewhere very important she’d rather be.

Kamille had finally met Mrs. Goodall and Amanda and the rest of the family the day after Christmas, when she and Chase had driven to Laguna Beach to announce their engagement. She was surprised to find that somehow, they weren’t the superhappy, supertight clan Chase had made them out to be. His father was a big drinker. His mother didn’t drink at all but quoted the Bible a lot. Amanda seemed weirdly possessive about Chase and kept making snide, bitchy comments to Kamille. Chase’s two brothers sat in front of the TV the whole time watching football and ignored everyone.

Chase had apologized about them afterward, saying that it had been an “off” night and they hadn’t been themselves. Kamille wasn’t sure what to think; he hadn’t taken her back to Laguna since that time, and today was the first time she’d seen any of the Goodalls since then.

But really, who cared? Kamille was marrying Chase, not Chase’s family. And he was practically perfect. Especially in the last five months since their engagement. Sure, he was busy with the team and on the road so much. But when he was home, he was so sweet and attentive to her. For a brief period, around New Year’s, the bad fights and the binge-drinking and the drama had resurfaced again. But then they went away again. These days, their relationship was stronger than ever.

“Last one,” Kyle whispered as she gave Kamille a large pink box.

Kamille opened it. It was her gift from Chase’s mom: a leather-bound Bible. With rainbow-colored Post-it notes sticking out of it.

“Oh, wow, thank you so much!” Kamille said through clenched teeth.
Smile and be polite,
she reminded herself. She had nothing against Bibles—in fact, quite the opposite. Still, it seemed like a weird wedding shower gift, especially with the Post-it notes.

Mrs. Goodall patted her platinum-blond updo. “I’ve marked the important passages for you. The ones about how to be a good wife to my firstborn son.”

Kamille stared at her with wide eyes.
Wow.
Mrs. Goodall was just about the craziest woman she’d ever met, which was saying a lot. And she was about to become Kamille’s mother-in-law.

Maybe she and Chase
should
start drinking heavily again.