The Drowning Girls (21 page)

“My
first
social stand,” Allie corrected. “I was only fourteen, for Pete’s sake. I couldn’t very well protest the state of health care or trickle-down economics. I had to work with what I had.”

“Oh, here we go,” Phil said, refilling our glasses for the second time. He proclaimed himself a “political agnostic,” but he had no problems pointing out the flaws in American systems when it suited his purpose.

Danielle reached for another helping of mashed potatoes. “Tell me a story about my mom. Did she ever do anything crazy like that?”

I held my breath, half expecting my mom to launch into the story of me arriving on their front porch at nineteen, five months pregnant. Instead, she told the story about how I’d passed high school chemistry by finding a loophole in the syllabus. Since there was no specified limit on extra credit points, I’d simply written a hundred summaries on science articles, and I’d received a B without ever passing a test or quiz.

Danielle gasped. “Mom! Why didn’t you just do the assignments?”

“Your grandmother forgot to mention that this class was ridiculously hard. It was the first time in my life I was actually in danger of failing. I just found the loophole, that’s all.”

“A loophole that was immediately closed by the teacher,” Mom said. “I was furious with Liz when he called me, but your grandfather was fine with it. He said we all have to learn to get by in the world, one way or another.”

“Hear, hear,” Allie said, holding out her glass for a toast.

* * *

That night, Allie and I bundled up and sat out by the pool. She told me about her courses and her students, the landlady at her crappy apartment, the guy she dated three times who turned out to be unemployed and spending his days at Starbucks for the free Wi-Fi. “And that wasn’t even the deal breaker,” she said over my groaning laughter. “I’d felt this immense compulsion to help him out, you know? Help him polish his résumé. Connect him with someone at the university for an interview. I would have done all of that, but when he took me back to his place, it turned out his place was shared by his ex-girlfriend, who was letting him live there rent-free. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with the situation.”

“Awkward,” I said.

“Extremely awkward. I’m going to put that on my next dating profile: ‘I prefer only to date men with serious issues who will introduce me to uncomfortable situations.’ Not a bad idea, actually. I’d get more hits, I’m sure.”

“And more unemployed guys.”

“I’m not getting any younger,” she pointed out, unwrapping and rewrapping the blanket so that it was pulled up around the side of her head. Only her eyes and nose were visible.

I’d learned, over the years, not to say things like
Your time will come. The right guy is out there.
Those were Mom’s phrases, stock sayings that rang less and less true as time went on. For a long time, Mom had complained that she’d done something wrong, having two girls who couldn’t find decent men. Allie was attractive, but in a “hard edges” kind of way—a sharp gaze, a loud voice, a closet full of button-down Oxfords. She hadn’t met the man who was her match. I’d always felt Mom was more relieved than happy for me when I’d introduced her to Phil. It was a validation of a normal life—no longer the single, unmarried daughter, but the family that could be displayed on a holiday card and stuck to the fridge. It made me sick to think that I might still disappoint her.

Allie could always read my mind. Her voice came from within the blanket, but I heard her clearly. Maybe I’d simply been waiting for her to ask.

“So, spill. You told me there were problems, but that seems like a bit of an understatement. Something’s changed between you two. I saw how you looked when you opened his gift. And you didn’t even try on the necklace. You put it right back in the box.”

I shook my head.

“Come on,” she said. “Haven’t we always told each other everything? If you want me to hate him, I’ll hate him. Say the word.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t, because the minute she’d started talking, the tears had come. And come.

“Scoot over,” Allie said, and the two of us crammed into a single deck chair, hip to hip. She held me, and I cried until my lips went blubbery and numb. This was what I’d come to, then—give me a few minutes alone with Mom or Allie, and I was a wreck.

“Let it out, kid,” Allie said, her hand on top of my head.

At some point, the slider opened and then, after a moment of hesitation, closed. No one had come out, and I didn’t know if it was Mom or Phil or Danielle who’d come to check on us.

* * *

Janet’s party was in full swing by the time we arrived. Phil wore dress pants and a gray shirt with the new tie he’d received from Danielle. I wore black pants with a silky shirt and the necklace from Phil. If he noticed the gesture, he didn’t say anything. Allie had borrowed a dress from me, after all, and Danielle had tied a complicated wrap belt around her waist, gathering the excess fabric in a way that made it look less maternity and more Grecian.

Myriam’s voice greeted us before we were ten steps inside the clubhouse. “Oh, Phil, I was wondering if you would...”

I took Allie’s arm and steered her toward the bar. “You’ll need some liquid courage to get through all the introductions.”

Allie laughed. “Fill her up. You’re driving, right?”

They were all there, standing in little clusters: Rich and Deanna, who had a neckline that plunged nearly to her waist; Janet and her newest boyfriend, Michael; even Jeremy and Carly Bergland, who had left the baby home with a sitter. I pointed them out sotto voce while Allie marveled.

“It’s like a collection of the world’s most beautiful people.”

I groaned. “Please don’t tell them that. They don’t need any more encouragement.”

Allie got a few curious stares herself, especially at the snake tattoo that wrapped its way around her wiry upper arm.

At the bar, Charlie Zhang was refilling Helen’s glass.

“How is everyone, Charlie?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I thought it would be a good idea to get the kids a new dog for Christmas. Who are we kidding, anyway? It’s been a month. Virgil isn’t coming back. But Helen’s taken it pretty badly. That dog was her life.”

“It’s so strange,” I said, accepting my glass from the bartender. “I would have thought there would have been some sign of him by now.”

“The best-case scenario is that he ran off and one of the ranchers took him in, although of course Helen canvassed that whole area with fliers. Still, that’s the hope.” He shoved a twenty in the tip jar and walked away.

“Their dog went missing,” I explained to Allie.

“I gathered as much.”

Janet Neimeyer was behind us suddenly, dripping with jewels. “Liz, dear. Who’s this?”

“My sister, Allie, from Chicago.”

Allie held out a hand, and Janet hugged her instead, bracelets jingling off her leathery arms. “We’re all family here, you know. All family. And we keep things in the family, too.”

Allie and I exchanged smiles. It was her own party, so why not get hammered if she wanted to?

Janet leaned forward. “I’m talking about the Asbills, of course. Didn’t you hear?”

I shook my head.

“It turns out that Brock has been—how can I put this delicately—shtupping the nanny. Oh, my dears. The plates that were thrown, the names that were called. Be happy you’re over on your end of the cul-de-sac, let me tell you.” She set down an empty glass of wine and picked up a full one.

“How is that even possible?” I asked. “Daisy was always there. I thought she wasn’t working anymore.”

Janet raised an eyebrow. “A girl has to go to town sometimes.”

“But they’re here.” We’d just passed them talking to Deanna, and nothing had seemed amiss.

“Well, it’s yesterday’s news by now. The girl’s on a plane back to Colombia, of course, and Daisy’s beginning to wonder if she can’t just take care of those kids on her own. Never trust the help, I say. Not that I think Brock’s a catch, mind you, but the things that Brock’s money can buy, now, that’s another story.” She took a half step away, stumbling and catching herself on Allie’s arm. “Now where’s that yummy husband of yours?”

“He was talking to Myriam.”

She patted me on the arm. “Don’t you worry. I’ll go rescue him.”

Allie laughed into her gin and tonic. “I don’t even know where to start with all that. The
nanny
. Isn’t that so stereotypical?”

I laughed, too, but I couldn’t take any joy in the ridiculousness of it. I felt bad for Daisy. Did she feel trapped now, mother to twins who were barely walking, wife to a man who’d gone for the low-hanging fruit? In the end, I hadn’t told Allie anything about Phil, the gut suspicions I hadn’t been able to prove. That would be a stereotype, too—the younger neighbor, akin to the babysitter, the subordinate, the secretary. It would be the kind of thing people laughed about at parties like this one. The Janet Neimeyers of the world wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from spreading it, ear to ear.

“Well, hello, stranger,” someone said, and I turned around to see Fran grinning at me. “Doug’s home with Elijah for the night, so I figured...”

I gave her a one-armed hug, careful not to slosh her with my drink. I’d never seen Fran wearing anything other than cargo pants with a zillion pockets and her sturdy white shoes. “You look fantastic.”

She beamed and twirled, her burgundy dress fanning out like a flamenco dancer’s. “Every now and then, I guess.”

“This is my sister, Allie.”

They shook hands, and Fran leaned in close. “I’m not doing that ridiculous gift exchange. I’m here for the entertainment aspect only. Last year there was some sort of scuffle between Deanna and Janet that almost ended in hair pulling. Although if that happens again, Doug will be sorry to miss it.”

“It is just like the
Real Housewives
,” Allie marveled when Fran moved along to greet Carly Bergland. “I feel like an anthropology student trying to figure out the cultural norms.”

“That’s how I felt at first. But it’s far less rewarding than you might think.”

“I can see how it would get old.”

We clinked glasses and moved toward the dance floor. Deanna and Rich were the only ones dancing. She had her head on his shoulder, and he was holding a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, his other hand on her back. They were laughing.

Tim and Sonia Jorgensen passed by, their heads above the crowd. Sonia gave me a cool nod, and I told Allie, “The tall couple? Heading toward the bar? Those are Kelsey’s parents.”

“Want me to beat them up?”

“Could you please?”

Allie took a mock step in their direction and wobbled on her borrowed shoes, a half size too big. She grabbed my arm. “Actually, can we sit somewhere? The last time I wore a pair of heels, I was interviewing for my job.”

We found two club chairs next to the Browerses, who looked less than enchanted with the whole scene. I asked about their Christmas, and Marja told me they were leaving in the morning for a cruise with her sister and brother-in-law. “I’m planning to walk the deck a hundred times a day,” she told me. “And that will be my justification for eating everything at the buffet.”

“It sounds like an excellent plan,” I told her. “Although if it were me, I’d probably just skip the walking.”

Marja smiled. “You’re young. You can still do that.”

A few more couples were dancing—the Berglands, the Roche-Edwardses, two men I recognized from Phase 2. I got up to refresh our drinks and when I returned, found Victor Mesbah in my seat, leaning in close to Allie. When he saw me, he excused himself.

I handed Allie her drink. “What was that?”

She grinned. “Apparently, he heard I was an
intellectual
. That was his word. He said he’s always interested in meeting other
intellectuals
.”

“He likes to ride around in a golf cart with a shotgun,” I told her.

“A Renaissance man, then.”

“You should be flattered. He certainly doesn’t consider me his intellectual equal.”

We were laughing when the commotion started. The music was loud near the dance floor, so at first it didn’t sound like more than voices raised to hear each other over the beat. Then Myriam raced by, cell phone in her hand.

Allie set her drink on the carpet and braced herself against the chair to get to her feet. “We’re missing the fight, I think.”

Rich called, “What now? Haven’t we had enough excitement for a while?”

I looked around for Phil. Carly Bergland was on her phone, too, saying, “Just keep the kids inside, no matter how much they beg...” Our eyes met. “What do you mean, Hannah isn’t there?”

Allie was right behind me as we made our way out the clubhouse doors, skirting around the Browerses. Fran Blevins was suddenly beside us, moving efficiently even without her tennis shoes. “It’s a house fire,” she said, breathless.

But by that point, we could smell it—a bitterness that hung in the air, scorching our nostrils. In the dark, people were milling around, shadowy shapes in fancy, impractical shoes. Allie and I shed our heels halfway across the parking lot. Wordless, I pointed at an orange flame, its tongue licking the night sky. Black smoke had blocked out the stars.

“Oh, my God,” Allie said. “It’s one of the new houses.”

My throat went tight.

“Isn’t it? That’s where we were yesterday.”

I couldn’t answer. I was running by now, panting, smoke searing my lungs. We crossed one block, then another, cutting across the Asbills’ lawn, through the Jorgensens’ driveway. It seemed like half the residents of The Palms were there already. They stood in the middle of the cul-de-sac, flames crackling fifty yards away.

The entire house was engulfed, red flames leaping inside the windows.

Someone was screaming. Around us, everyone was talking, their words coming in snatches over the popping of wooden beams.

“Get a hose! Buckets, something!”

“The water hasn’t been turned on out here.”

“At least no one’s living there. They were supposed to—”

“Who called 911?”

“It’s going to take twenty minutes for a fire engine to get out here.”